


Red Thread

by Seek_The_Mist



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: As well as specific trigger warnings, Dom/sub Undertones, Drabble Collection, Gratuitous Smut, Kinky, Light BDSM, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Relationships tag will be updated and put in the chapter titles as well, To avoid the tag flooding most of the content will be in the starting notes, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-10-17 08:25:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 24,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10590192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seek_The_Mist/pseuds/Seek_The_Mist
Summary: Collection of short, unapologetically dirty fics that I wrote as prompt fills from Tumblr asks.Every chapter will have an associated prompt sentence and a given (variable) couple [Trigger and content warning: in the starting note].There will only be sporadic context. No plot, we porn like men.Chapter 11: Adam/Ronan + “Your muscles are in knots. Better let me rub you down” , “It’s an ice cube, darling. Do you like it?”





	1. Ronan/Gansey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything in this E-rated hell started with me, a Tumblr, an open ask box and [this brilliant list of kinky prompts](http://seekthemist.tumblr.com/post/159187801724/thread-starters-kink-edition). 
> 
> I love each and every one of the dirty minds that came to prompt me and I take full responsibility for the (brutally unbeta-ed) filth that I unleashed in response :D (as such, if you find that you want me to add tags, warnings, or elaborate more on the content, please let me know)
> 
>  
> 
>  **Content Warning for this chapter** : D/s undertones, light BDSM, Rough Sex, Mention of underage drinking, Mention of wounds.

  


  
**Ronan/Gansey + “You know I love you, right? I have every intention of fucking you like I don’t.”**

 

“I love you.” Gansey’s murmur is thick around his vowels, breath laboured. “You know I love you, right?“

Gansey can’t see Ronan’s face, not with his own forearm pressed against it, but he can feel the body-wide shudder. He did not hit him, he would never, and yet Ronan steadies himself against the words as if they are blows. There is no reply.

“I have every intention to fuck you like I don’t,” he adds, through gritted teeth, every point their naked bodies touch boiling and too intimate to the contact, “but I still do.”

Ronan’s chest heaves under him, unsteady. His face stays insistently turned to the side, in a stubborn silence that has more to do with how he hides in his own broad shoulders than with Gansey keeping his face pressed against the pillow. 

“Ronan, do you understand?” Gansey snaps a bit, flexing his fingers against Ronan’s wrists. The right one is still tightly bandaged, and the smell of disinfectants clings to Gansey’s nose. He presses his weight down a bit more, knowing that the demand is what is keeping Ronan’s arms above his head rather than Gansey’s strength. Knowing that it must hurt, a bit.

“Yes, shit, drop the fucking chitchat,” Ronan snarls, tensing under Gansey as if to release the constriction.

“Good.” That’s Gansey’s last breathy sigh right against Ronan’s ear. He lifts up but presses his elbow more on Ronan’s jaw. “Then shut up and stay still.”

Ronan instinctively holds his breath, sensing the change of tone enough to have it echoed in his bones. Then Gansey’s adjusts his hand — the other one, the one holding Ronan's cock as if it belongs to him — and a moan jumps out from his throat. 

“You took centuries to give me something worth it and now you’re leaking on my fingers,” Gansey considers, coolly, tapping the tip of his thumb on the smooth skin of Ronan’s hardness — hard enough to be wet now, completely convinced by the situation. “Do I look like someone that would wait for your whims?”

Ronan squeezes his eyes under Gansey’s arm. He’s too hot, he’s sweating, he wouldn’t move away from it if the world were to crumble down. “No…”

“Shut up,” Gansey reiterates, a dissatisfied bite in his voice. “I don’t care for whatever stupid thing you have to say. You can stick to moaning and begging.” _And I still won’t listen_ , it went without saying with remarkable clarity.

This is Gansey — disdainful and untouchable in his command enough to be _Richard Campbell Gansey III_ , hot enough to be _Gansey-on-fire_ — giving his best and his worst for Ronan.

When he lets go of Ronan’s arms and straightens up, Ronan stays perfectly still, as obedient as he could ever be. It only wins him a contemptuous snort. The half-considering hum comes only after, when Gansey shuffles back to straddle Ronan’s hip, rocking slowly back and forth on Ronan’s erection. 

“Mmhn…suitable, _almost_ ,” he throws his head back and flexes his thighs, the crack between his cheeks slippery with lube, as if to estimate if Ronan is hard enough.  
Ronan can only see him from the corner of his eyes, Gansey’s palm pressed against his face to keep it turned around. He is an object for Gansey’s pleasure, and he will provide it whether he likes it or not — because Gansey is not leaving him the option to fail.

He chokes on his tongue when the tip of his cock catches on the dip of Gansey’s entrance. It flutters against him and then it yields, leaving Ronan to keen while Gansey fucks himself onto his cock in increments.

“Ah…ah…” For a second, the shaking quality of Gansey’s moans makes him sound as lost as Ronan himself feels — lost into his imposed insomnia, lost into his grief, lost into the impossible, forbidden heat of Gansey’s insides. Ronan wants to touch him so much he’s shaking.

By the time he makes to move his hands, though, Gansey is perfectly back on track.

“Don’t you _dare_. I’m not here to be distracted,” he reproaches, locking his hand wide over Ronan’s mouth. “ _Be. Still_.”

Gansey begins to move and Ronan can feel every push against his body — against his face and against his ribs, where Gansey’s other hand is pressed for leverage. The rhythmic clenching around his hardness and the way Gansey’s body is slowly loosening up is _maddening_. Ronan stays still.

Every shuffle, readjustment and bending of Gansey’s body is an obvious chase for his own fulfillment, for that one angle and depth that makes his moans hitch in a self-contented fashion. Ronan’s vision tunnels into darkness and he bites his unsteady keens down on Gansey’s hand.

“Don’t come.” Another order, as if appalled by the thought that Ronan could so anything like that. “Satisfy me.”

There is no place for a no, no place for contrariness, no place for a fight. Ronan stares at Gansey’s figure from the corners of his eyes, keeps his teeth on Gansey’s hand without complaints, and just _holds on_.

Gansey bends increasingly towards him, his own cock bobbing down on Ronan’s taut stomach and his legs quivering around Ronan’s hips. He loses it again some moments later, all “Oh… _Nh-ah_ …ah!”, dropping his forehead on Ronan’s shoulder and covering his skin with come.

For all his mindless use of Ronan’s body, he keeps rocking, uneven in his movements and trembling all over, until his breath breaks into a hard panting.

Then it’s Ronan turn to pick up the shaking, and he’s still trying to obey, somehow, but _he can’t_ : his jaws drops open with a scream against Gansey’s hand and he comes, and comes, bucking up and making the bed creak. His vision goes white, then spotty, then dark.

Ronan doesn’t even stay awake enough to feel Gansey lift out from his softening cock, falling asleep or losing his senses — or both — almost immediately.

Gansey caresses the purple bags under Ronan's eyes, sliding down to clear the drool from around his mouth, and then bends over to kiss his forehead.

“See? No need for whiskey.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading!
> 
> Kudos and comments make me incredibly happy, of course.
> 
> Feel free to come and throw more filth into the ask box of my [Tumblr](http://seekthemist.tumblr.com), of course. Hell forbids I'm here sinning alone! :D


	2. Ronan/Gansey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another (short but intense) round of Ronsey, a couple that I always, absolutely love. Is this linked to the previous prompt? We might never know: no context, we’re just here for the filth.  
> Again, brutally unbetaed, have mercy.
> 
> Every prompt comes from [this list](http://seekthemist.tumblr.com/post/159187801724/thread-starters-kink-edition), a gift to us all.
> 
> **Content Warning for this chapter** : D/s undertones, light BDSM, Spanking, Anal Fingering, Rough handling  
>   
> 

  
  


**Ronan/Gansey + “Don’t pussyfoot around. I want it to hurt.”**

  


Ronan gnaws on the leather bands on his right wrist, echoing the throbbing of blood in his ears and rolling throaty moans between his tongue and his teeth. He knows his eyes are watering, so he keeps them stubbornly close — against the intrusive light of Monmouth in the late afternoon — and just concentrates on keeping still.

Gansey’s hand lands just below the curve of his ass, again — elegant like a scholar, heavy like a rower — and Ronan kind of fails in his purpose by grasping their left hands, twined together. Gansey still gives him another hit, but he then stills, filling the room with Ronan’s syncopated panting. Against all odds, Ronan’s senses are more tuned on Gansey’s quiet and controlled breathing and on the way Gansey’s thumb caresses over Ronan’s palm, making Ronan release the grip. 

He is exactly where he wants to be: half-naked on Gansey’s order, bent across his clothed legs and with one arm twisted behind his back, locking him into position. It still takes him a while to take one full breath.

Through the fog of his mind, he registers too late that Gansey stopped spanking him in favour of rubbing his hand over his ass cheeks. Everything burns so much that Ronan can almost taste it on his tongue. He’s too sensitive and too overwhelmed to infer anything more from the situation. 

_Just getting caressed is nice_ , a treacherous part of his brain suggests, the ground swimming underneath him. 

“Don’t pussyfoot around. I want it to hurt,” it’s what he actually grits out, after a couple of false starts.

“And it does,” Gansey replies, unnervingly reasonable and always seeing right through Ronan. “I know what you want.”

He says it with such certainty that Ronan knows he will end up wanting whatever Gansey has in mind by the time he’s done.

Gansey’s hand stops rubbing over the heated skin, as if to suggest the burn to spread down to Ronan’s legs and up his back, and just leaves him alone. Not even the early spring air and the constantly chilling warehouse is enough to provide some relief. 

“Then slap me,” _touch me_. Half of Ronan’s demands always went in the undertones. 

“I will, when I say so.” There’s no arguing with Gansey when he gets that tone, especially not if Ronan is ass in the air begging to continue his spanking.

Ronan can hear the wet sound of Gansey’s mouth opening and closing, but he can’t look, not with one arm twisted like this. It goes on for what it seems like forever, and Ronan has nothing to do but consider the throbbing of his body and how much he would like a kiss. Conflicted and conflicting as always.  
When Gansey’s hand returns, it’s directly between his cheeks, two fingers wet with spit breaching his hole without preambles. 

“Ah! Fuck!” 

He clenches up instinctively, but the side of Gansey’s hand and wrist rubs on his well-spanked skin and everything _burns_. He can feel himself gape open by reflex — shamefully, shamelessly — and Gansey just buries his fingers inside without a second thought. 

Rather than thrusting in and out, Gansey just wiggles around, turning and pushing, almost too dry. Ronan screams against the bed linen.

Everything is on fire, outside but not only. Maybe there is a way to pour the licks of warmth from his abused skin directly inside, and Gansey knows the secret. It _hurts_. 

Gansey zeroes on his prostate. It’s so _glorious_ Ronan loses his voice completely.

He wiggles around to escape, or maybe to buck into it. It doesn’t really matter, Gansey seems untroubled and impossible to dislodge from his tapping and circling. 

By the time Ronan realizes he’s coming, his nails are already pressing into Gansey’s arm and he might be wailing again. 

He’s still shaking when Gansey abruptly withdraws his fingers and bents sideways to kiss and bite at Ronan’s ass, nursing the fire of bruised skin with burning hickeys. Ronan lets his eyes pool and overflow, sobbing little thanks and pleads in the form of Gansey’s name. 

They’re not done, yet.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Thank you very much for reading!
> 
> My little bursts of madness and porn are wickedly encouraged by your kudos, comments and the like, of course.
> 
> At the moment I'm slowing down a bit on prompts, but feel free to come and shout at me in the askbox of my [Tumblr](http://seekthemist.tumblr.com), and a) I always reply, b) I'll always come around and fill other requests :D


	3. Ronan/Adam/Gansey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We keep up the tradition of the weekend filth with another prompt from [this crazy list of filth, OMG, it's never-ending.](http://seekthemist.tumblr.com/post/159187801724/thread-starters-kink-edition)
> 
> No beta, no context, no plot. I would say nothing, but there is smut so I hope that's what you're here for.  
> Off you go for the most unnegotiated threesome in the history of threesomes. I know you want it. *smirks*
> 
>  **Content Warning for this chapter** : Rimming, light voyeurism, impromptu threesome  
>   
> 

  
  


**Ronan/Adam/Gansey + “What would you think about adding a third party?”**

  
  
  


Ronan is reasonably sure the intended purpose of the five bean bags Blue had bullied Gansey into purchasing was _not_ the one he and Adam are giving them. In the low light of the fast winter sunset, however, he finds that he doesn’t much care. He much rather let Adam grab his hips and drag him a bit closer, Ronan’s legs pressing on his shoulders with the trousers hanging from one ankle.

The bag sags more under Ronan’s back, following its curve all the way towards the floor. Adam sucks a bruise on the over-sensitive skin of his inner thigh. Ronan drops his head on the floor with a groan.

Ronan will forever defend the fact that they were being perfectly decent - reading and talking and shit - up until the point when Ronan successfully distracted Adam and lured him into a playful scuffle. Then Adam managed to shove Ronan sideways from the bean he was perched on, and apparently his abs flexing under the muscle shirt in response must have been really distracting.

However it started, it's ending like this, with Adam licking along Ronan’s skin, broader and closer to the crack of his cheeks by the second.

“Fuck… _ooh_ , f-fuck…” Ronan marvels, gritting his teeth under the first laps over his hole, wet and soft and just _so warm_.

He hears Adam sigh against his skin, a small shuffling of clothes signalling his readjusting the position on his knees. Then Adam dives in with more purpose and Ronan lets his legs sag down in Adam’s grip, moaning low.

He reaches down with one hand, but Adam’s head is too awkward to reach, with his hips raised up like this. Adam releases the clench on his hipbones, though, and Ronan is more than happy to twine their fingers together and squeeze, pressing them back down on his own stomach.

Losing a sense of time and direction is easy, in the impending darkness filled with Ronan’s increasing laboured breathing. He tenses all over in little jerks, his cock hard, then _harder_. Adam ignores it, and it does not occur Ronan to touch it himself, hyper-focused on the wet, indecent sounds of Adam rimming him.

It’s only when Adam sucks down on his own spit that Ronan opens his eyes, whining around a shudder.

A pair of really familiar legs are just a couple of meters away. Ronan’s eyes travel up to meet Gansey’s considering expression, piercing through the both of them.

“Oooh, shit!” Ronan startles. He doesn’t know how long Gansey has been there. There is no alternative explanation for what he and Adam are doing.

He would scramble away, if he could, but Adam is still pinning him down and shame locks him in place.

Adam lift his head with a very hoarse “What?”, uncertain if the startling is good or bad, now. “Oh…” he murmurs then, seeing Gansey.

Ronan covers his face with one arm, feeling his insides twist with embarrassment. His cock doesn’t get the message and stays angry hard. Adam caresses his hand softly, but doesn’t dislodge himself from between his legs.

“What would you think about adding a third party?” Gansey’s voice comes from right above him this time. Ronan moves his arm to stare at him in disbelief while he crouches down beside him.

Ronan’s face is on fire. This cannot be real, but a wave of embarrassment so strong would have waken him up from a dirty dream. Instead, he just finds himself looking away from Gansey, towards Adam. He’s still between Ronan’s legs, leaning with one temple on his inner thighs, and his mouth is red and wet - really distracting.

Ronan is not totally sure of what Adam sees in his eyes, in their quick exchange of glances, but when he says “Knock yourself out,” it’s definitive.  
It’s difficult to have any complaints when Gansey expression gets _ravenous_. Yet, Gansey’s hand is gentle and tentative in reaching behind Ronan’s neck.

Ronan clicks his tongue, breathless, and just reaches up to hold onto Gansey’s polo shirt with his free hand. Gansey rewards him with a smile and lifts Ronan’s head up a bit, to rest on his thighs rather than the floor. Adam is probably watching and approving, by the way he strokes Ronan’s knuckles.

Then Gansey bends down to kiss him and Adam dives back in and Ronan’s whole world inflates.

He tries to moan but Gansey sucks on his tongue and it turns into a broken sound, fractured by Gansey’s hands storking the side of his face before sliding down over his chest.

The kiss does not relent, but Gansey grabs one of his naked knees and pulls it up further. It gives Adam that bit of extra space to actually breach inside Ronan with his tongue.

“Aaah…ah, G-god…” Ronan grits out, trying to escape Gansey’s mouth and getting captured back in within a second. Everything tastes like mint. Ronan can feel his hardness by the side of his neck and he would really like to do something about it, but _can’t_.

There is nothing to do but staying still and taking it, until it’s too much and every muscle in his body is quivering and jumping.

“Good, _just_ like that.” Gansey praises him, biting softly on Ronan’s bottom lip.

Ronan lingers in that tight, sweet spot where too much is still not enough for some seconds longer. Then Adam lovely, loved hand sneaks around his cock and _squeeze_ and Ronan can feel himself clench and tremble over the wet tip of Adam’s tongue.

He lets out a long, incoherent moan inside of Gansey’s mouth and comes all over his shirt. If he doesn’t jump up and away it’s just because two people are keeping him folded up on the pillow.

By the time Ronan’s hardness actually starts to soften, Gansey has moved his kisses away from his mouth and over his face. Adam lifts up slowly, a bit stiffly, and makes Ronan mumble again with the easy slide of his index finger inside his softened hole.

“If you’re done, come up here, Adam. I want to kiss you too,” Gansey asks, voice twisted by desire.

“Sure,” Adam just says, completely breathless.

Ronan just stares up and watches them kiss above him, Gansey’s fingers under Adam’s chin and Adam’s hands cradling Gansey’s head. He soaks in the bliss of so many different pleasures and finds himself hungry for more.

“Let me turn around so you can fuck me,” he asks Adam, after rehearsing the sentence in his head, and reaches to grab Gansey’s belt.

“We’re gonna have to wash this bean bag,” Gansey considers, dumbstruck with sudden lust.

“Definitely,” Adam confirms from behind him, caressing his way up Ronan’s sides and spreading his legs again.

Ronan bends his back, belly down on the pillow, and fights to unfasten Gansey’s trousers. “Yeah, whatever.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and for all the support to this crazy collection of the porn my mind sprouts and promotes at times :D
> 
> Comments, kudos, asks and random chatters are always appreciated, everyone can tell you that I love to blabber.
> 
> To blabber more and possibly encourage more porn, pop by my [Tumblr](http://seekthemist.tumblr.com) :DDDD


	4. Adam/Ronan/Kavinsky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This monstrously long smut is a composition of two dirtybadwrongOMGwhy fills (PLEASE mind the warnings). 
> 
> Both the first prompt and the request for the continuation+second prompt ([the numbers are here](http://seekthemist.tumblr.com/post/159187801724/thread-starters-kink-edition)) caught me in a peculiarly annoyed/frustrated and I don't know what the outcome says about my brain but whatever.
> 
> There is some background context that serves as a scene to justify the filth, the focus of the narration shifts between the three parties throughout the fic and, as usual, it's so unbetaed it hurts.
> 
>  
> 
>  **Content/Trigger Warning for this chapter** : DubCon+NonCon, Sexual Coercion/blackmail, Drugs, Rough Sex, Outdoor sex, Blowjobs, Anal Fingering, Forced Orgasms, Verbal Abuse, Violence.  
>   
> [ _For a more detailed outline of what the fic will entail (vaguely spoilersh of course) please click here and jump to the end notes_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10590192/chapters/23851107#chapter_4_endnotes)

  
  


**Adam/Ronan/Kavinsky + “Relax your throat," "I want to hear you scream.”**

  
  


The flashing lights of cars and torches are the only break for the nighttime darkness in the Virginian countryside, but the yelling and booming music of the rave party are diffused in the distance.  
Everything feels surreal and vaguely sickening, here, by the side of one of Kavinsky’s Mitsubishis. Maybe it’s because his cars are always the heart of the party and not meant to be draw away for privacy. Maybe it’s because Ronan is kneeling on the grass and Adam stands in front of him, more naked than dressed.

Ronan can see him scowling when Kavinsky throws his shirt somewhere, with the same obvious disregard he reserves to everyone and everything. Adam is careful and conscious with his thing, and his people, and obviously doesn’t like it. 

The fundamental differences between them make them incompatible to the core, and yet there is something morbidly fascinating — like letting a tarantula walk on your hand — in the sight of Kavinsky leaning on Adam’s shoulder, the two of them looking down at Ronan.

“Well, boys? We have a deal, and you’ll deliver, won’t you?” Kavinsky drags out, every inch appalling in his entitlement. 

Adam sighs, too tense into his display of annoyance to be completely credible, but still leans forward with his forearms on the hood of the Mitsubishi, spreading his legs as far apart as his pooled-down trousers would allow him.

“What a sight, so trailer trash can be compliant, can’t he? Good boy” Kavinsky keeps going, untouched by their silence. Adam jumps a little, suddenly, and Ronan has the net impression that Kavinsky just grabbed his ass and he’s probably kneading it.

“Cut it out,” Ronan grits, uncomfortable in the need to contain all the aggression Kavinsky usually stirs in him. He has to, if they want to keep the deal, if they want a chance on getting back whatever he stole from Cabeswater to make it so uspet.

“Why should I? Open wide, Lynch,” Kavinsky reaches over, grabbing Ronan’s jaw and shaking his head to the sides until he unclenches his jaw. “We all know you’re gagging for this cock. It doesn’t seems to get hard alone, so just get on it.” 

He drags Ronan closer, almost directly on Adam’s bare crotch. Adam’s cock is, admittedly, as stubbornly disinterested on the procedure as Adam’s stoney expression broadcasts. And yet, when Ronan breaths close to it, it can feel the twitching. 

Ronan bats Kavinsky’s hand away from his face, “Fuck off.” 

He grabs onto Adam’s hips — to steady himself, to say _sorry_ in every way he can think about. He won’t ask if he’s sure, because they had that conversation already. He won’t ask if he’s alright because Kavinsky won’t care either way. They still exchange a stare, though, and Ronan knows it is what it is. 

He opens his mouth and lets Adam’s cock slide in. 

Against every better judgement, Adam gasps in the contrast between the cool, late spring air and the overwhelming warmth of Ronan’s mouth. 

“And noooow we’re talking,” Kavinsky stretches his vowels in an half-whistle and just runs his hands over Adam’s body, eyeing down from time to time. 

Adam is trying to keep is breath steady, but he is getting hard. It’s a natural reaction as it is, and this is Ronan. And probably, Adam figures, it wouldn’t do him any good to stay flaccid if Kavinsky wants him hard.

“He has a persuasive little mouth, right?” Kavinsky murmurs in Adam’s ear, still purposefully loud enough to be heard by Ronan. “I bet you want to do this all the time, when he can’t shut the fuck up.”

When Adam grits his teeth and doesn’t give him the satisfaction of an answer, Kavinsky just clicks his tongue and reaches down. He sneaks his index finger inside of Ronan’s mouth, sliding wetly against Adam’s cock, evidently erected, and snickers with sick satisfaction.

“Don’t worry, Parrish, I’ll make you talkative my way,” he threatens — or promise, it’s the same from him. 

Ronan, half distracted by the increasingly hard slide of Adam in his mouth, feels the jumping of Adam’s muscles under his hand. It’s pretty clear, from the wet sounds that follows, that Kavinsky has just emptied half a tube of lube or so in the crack of Adam’s cheeks. 

For all of Adam’s resolution, he still hiccups a startled sound when Kavinsky breaches him with two fingers. They’re too wet not to slide in, but it’s still remarkably uncomfortable when they tries to push over the initial ring of muscles. 

“Give in, come on. It’s pointless to resist,” Kavinsky urges him, and true to his words he keeps pushing and pulling in tiny increments until two fingers are knuckle deep inside Adam. 

Adam’s knees tremble. Ronan grabs his other side to steady him. For that, and the calm, intimate sucking of his mouth, Adam is incredibly grateful. 

Kavinsky turns his fingers around, pushing in and out, and in and out. He keeps at it long enough that at some point, for Adam’s internal dismay, Adam’s body shudders and gives in.

“Theeeere you go,” Kavinsky coos, irritatingly, and slides a third finger in. 

Ronan keeps his hold on Adam’s hips, caressing them lightly when he feels him tremble. He does try not to torment him to much, but Adam’s cock is really hard and a bit curved against his tongue and Ronan’s mouth is constantly pooling with saliva in response. Sometimes there isn’t much to do but to suck down on it and swallow. Adam’s abs always flex and jump when he does. 

The slick sound coming from behind is maddening, a rhythmic _slick, slick, slap_ that broadcasts to all of them just how _hard_ Kavinsky’s fingers are fucking Adam. Ronan forces his eyes to roll up enough to get a glimpse of Adam’s face: his faint eyebrows are frowned and his mouth seems tempted to gape but it's stopped by a stubborn gritting of teeth.

Up until the point he just can’t anymore.

He jumps under Ronan’s grip when he sucks down the pool of spit once again. A shiver seizes him and he closes his eyes, jaw dropping open.

“Ah! Ahhh…Nhgh…” Adam’s moans feel like a surrender — to the whole situation, to the fact that he’s _definitely_ feeling it. 

Kavinsky chuckles and does not relent in his movements. “See, trailer trash? It wasn’t so hard.” 

His free hand moves away and the clicking of a belt unfastening echoes around them. Then, Kavinsky reaches over to grab onto Ronan’s jaw, his chin perched on Adam’s trembling shoulders. 

“Enough with this half-assed crap, Lynch.” He gravels, forcing him to open his mouth more with the pressure of his fingers. “Now, you open wide and I’m gonna fuck Parrish _rrriiiight_ on this little sneaky tongue. Relax your throat.”

This is all the warning they both get, before Kavinsky gets his fingers out of Adam and fills him back up with his cock. Adam makes a breathless sound and Ronan has just one moment to make a conscious effort to stay still and inhale, before Kavinsky starts thrusting and they both fall into the imposed rhythm. 

Adam’s shoulders drop and he lets his forehead fall onto his forearms, grabbing the hood of the Mitsubishi to try not to buck under the force of Kavinsky fucking him, every movement followed by a dirty _slickslack_ , as if to remember everyone how much he opened Adam up before. He moans like he’s being punched, but Ronan’s mouth is always there to welcome him — deep, deep, all the way down the hilt — and it is pleasurable, more than anything else he has ever experienced. 

He doesn’t know how long it lasts, but Adam can feel his eyes crossing at some point. “ _Ro_ …ah..nahn…” he tires to warn him and fails, reaching down instinctively to grab onto Ronan’s shoulders with one hand to try and steady himself. 

Ronan’s mouth already burns, getting Adam’s come all over his tongue and all the way down his throat doesn’t help. Still, he tries to swallow. He coughs on it and swallows again, eyes watering helplessly. 

Adam’s orgasm is stronger and more overwhelming than any other he has ever experienced. For a shameful moment is mind is empty and wiped and the insisting push of an hard cock into his hole is just what he needs to go down from the high with the same glory.

When the delirious euphoria passes, he can still feel himself clenching unevenly around Kavinsky’s hardness. Something drips down along his legs while Kavinsky keeps thrusting in while coming inside Adam. Once he’s done, he retracts abruptly, breath heavy. 

Ronan scrambles up on his feet, unsteady on his cramping legs. 

Kavinsky laughs, unfiltered and rude. “Now that’s what I call a good fuck, Parrish, I’m impressed.” He lands a slap on his cheek and Adam is still trembling enough that it’s sufficient to propel him forward. 

Ronan is right there, ready to catch him in his arms and giving up his shoulders as a resting place for Adam’s head — even while he’s still coughing and his mouth aches in way he never thought possible before. After all they just did, getting hugged tightly still strikes Adam as a crazy intimacy — safe, sharing, comforting.

They don’t have much time to enjoy it.

“You’re making me want to throw up,” Kavinsky snarls from behind them. “Lend me your shoulder, Parrish, I’ll do a line off you and then it’s _Lynch dearest_ ’s turn.” His hollowed eyes pierce through Ronan’s blue one. “Aren’t you happy, princess?”

  
  


* * *

  
  


Ronan can feel his nostrils flaring, but still manages to contain the anger. Barely. He glares at Kavinsky with clenched teeth, running one hand over Adam’s back — skin naked and not yet free of the tension pushed into it.

Kavinsky smiles like a shark at the silence. “Yeah, that’s what I thought, I bet you’re aching for it.” He lurks again behind Adam’s back, opening his mouth wide and licking a long stripe from Adam’s shoulder all the way up his ear.

Adam promptly lifts from Ronan’s embrace, comfort shattered and abandoned, and clinches to get his head away from the contact. Only his right hand stays on Ronan’s side, bruising in its grip. Even still flushed and dishevelled, the unapproachable distance of his eyes is impressive.

“ _Owwww_ , Parrish, don’t give me that after all the fun we had” Kavinsky coos, sneaking his hand along the back of Adam’s thigh where his come was still drying up.

Adam stays very, very still. “What do you want?”

Kavinsky laughs, “You see, Lynch, he understands how it works!” He pats Adam’s ass again, heavily enough to be almost a slap. “What I want is to show me your scholarship crap in something useful. I go and pick my magic powder, and you show Ronan Darling how I got you into it.” His eyes shines in dark delight. He bends down and recovers the uncapped lube from the floor, to push it into Adam’s hand.

Ronan growls, feeling the burn deeper than the coercion, deeper than the mockery, exactly where it was intended for his discomfort. “Stop this shit and get it over with!”

Something lingers darkly in Kavinsky’s expression and it’s the only warning Ronan gets before Kavinsky’s hand flashes — fast and stronger than the scrawny arms let by — and smacks him against the hood of the Mitsubishi, pressing down to hold him there. “Sorry, sugar, didn’t I make myself clear?” the cut through the vowels is sharp as a razor and a clear mockery of Adam’s accent at the same time. “We’re done when I say we are. You play as you should or I’ll fuck you raw with what I stole from your forest.”

Blood soars in Ronan’s vein and is ready to lash back, just this close, when the pressure at the back of his head relents. When he turns, Adam is standing, naked and unwavering, with one hand grasping Kavinsky’s tank top and keeping him bodily away from Ronan. “A deal is a deal,” he stresses, low enough to be almost dangerous. The mutable shadows cast by the cars moving in the distance project on the angles and curves of Adam’s face, making him weird — powerful, alien. For a moment Ronan hates whatever Cabeswater is doing, or saying, to make Adam believe that this is the right course of action. “You stick to yours, we’ll stick to ours.”

Kavinsky is silent for a while, five seconds too long to attempt to look unaffected, and then hums low in his throat. “Then get on it, trailer trash, you have five minutes,” he turns around with a snarls, yanking out of Adam’s grip. “And keep your clothes off,” he finishes, opening the Mitsubishi.

Ronan and Adam are briefly, almost, alone.

Adam staggers, way less stable that he looked two seconds ago, and drops down just beside the rear wheel of the car. He regards the bottle of lube with dark, obvious distaste but tilts his head at Ronan nonetheless. “Come here, let’s get this over with.”

Ronan swallows, tasting blood, and carefully avoids Adam’s gaze while taking off his trousers. He almost wants to keep his boxers on but Adam himself drags them off as soon as Ronan kneels beside him.

Adam is quick and efficient like a men on a mission, but something in his expression is more present than before while he plasters Ronan by his left side. “Here, _here_ ,” he whispers, hoisting Ronan’s leg along his thighs. Ronan follows, helpless and breathless, and Adam squeezes the lube on his left hands.

Two fingers stroke the crack between his cheeks and the breathing situation does not ease.

“Fuck!” He swears between clenched teeth, dropping his head on Adam’s shoulder.

“I know. Breathe.” Adam instructs, tapping his fingertips at Ronan’s entrance. He waits for him to execute, and to consciously relax, before breaching in.

One finger slides in, wet, one knuckle after another. It’s slow but all in one go. For a second, Ronan feels like a misbehaving car equipment, fixed up under the force of Adam’s competency. Then the fact that he’s under Adam’s touch, against Adam’s body, feeling Adam’s naked skin hits him like a train-wreak and Ronan clenches against his finger.

His hands. _His hands_.

“ _Breathe_ ,” Adam insists, and another streak of lube slides next to his hole. When it gets pushed inside, it’s with two fingers.

Ronan really tries, twisting his head briefly to glance up. Adam is barely looking at him, face stoney in a hyper-focused way, and for every time his tired eyes track the shivers along Ronan’s body there is a concurrent sense of tension and damage control. Ronan retreats between shut eyes, to bottle his want and greed up, because _this is what it is_ and everything more would just mean leaving something for Kavinsky to seize. He does understand it even though he doesn’t want to.

It doesn’t know how long it has been, but he has barely managed to take a couple of full breaths — even though Adam is scissoring his fingers inside and everything pulses — when Kavinsky crouches down on the other side of Adam, with a renewed maniac light on his face. “Having fun, princess?”

Ronan’s jaw had gone a bit lax, but he clenches it right back. “Fuck you.”

“Well, what do you think I’m here for?” Kavinsky laughs uglily at his own approximation of a joke and grabs the side of Adam’s head, to push it against Ronan’s and leave the shoulder free. The fingers inside Ronan are perfectly still and Adam is a bundle of controlled stillness.

True to his words, Kavinsky arranges a long line of powdery coke on the flattened dip of Adam’s protruding collarbone. He leans close, still grasping Adam’s head, and snorts it off in one smooth go. Up close, Ronan can see him stilling to take in the it, and then opening his mouth to clear up the residue with a long, leisured lick. Adam shudders, unpleasantly.

“Did you stop, trailer trash?” The inquiry comes with a vaguely nasal voice, stunned a bit slurred. And hand trembles down Ronan’s side, all the way to his butt, but when two of Kavinsky’s fingers push in beside Adam’s it’s sudden, and violent.

Ronan’s world tilts backwards for a second and he chokes on his tongue with a guttural sound, trying to swallow it in and wheezing in his failure. Adam’s fingers are still deep and unmoving but Kavinsky’s wiggles around, pushing and tapping. “ _Urrhg_ …nh…Ah…”

“I know you like it hard, Lynch. You like everything hard,” Kavinsky whispers, suggestively. He has all the right to be matter-of-factly about it because, _shit_ , Ronan is hard. Forced, desperate and still _hard_. The strain is borderline excessive, but wet and frictionless and it’s difficult to clench beck with two sets of knuckles stretching his rim, it’s difficult to push against the invasion when his body already relaxed for Adam. “It’s easy enough, isn’t it, Parrish? I bet he does it himself all the time,” Kavinsky muses.

Ronan can feel his face burn in the early summer heat, ashamed of something more convoluted than the truth itself. Adam doesn’t give Kavinsky the satisfaction of a reply but presses his cheek more against the crown of Ronan’s head and rocks his fingers slightly, gently, until Ronan sags more heavily against him. Until he remembers to breathe, even though his lungs are jumpy and he can hear himself moaning on thin air.

“Keep holding him, I’m liking this,” Kavinsky instructs, unperturbed and increasingly fidgeting, high on cocaine and on power. He stresses the concept by kneading one hand on Ronan’s thigh, pushing it further into Adam’s hold and forcing the spread until Ronan is almost face down on Adam’s chest. It’s an uncomfortable twist but the desperate grasp of Ronan’s arms around Adam has more to do with how the pressure of the fingers changes _just so_ and it becomes all-compassing. Sweat prickles on the bent of his neck, down his spine and he should worry about what Adam is thinking and instead his whole body is reducing to the clenching of his rim. Another splash of lube easing the way further is only a distant, tremble-worthy addition.

Then the fingers are out and Kavinsky barely lines up properly before thrusting into Ronan. The grip on his hips is bruising and he yanked back one, two, three times, until Kavinsky’s cock all the way in.

“Jesus _fuck_!” Ronan lets out, voice halting down his throat and fingers dragging line over Adam’s side. There is something horribly sobering about being split in two so suddenly. He looks up at Adam hopelessly, eyes wide at the look of him — untouchable and yet so mundane in his flushed tiredness.

Adam locks one hand, strong and wet all over, over his jaw. If Ronan doesn’t shatter to pieces — when Kavinsky bites down on his shoulder and starts fucking inside him with an earnest growl — it’s just because of Adam grounding him with his whole body, with his feverish eyes. “Breathe,” Adam reiterates, little more than a whisper.

Kavinsky doesn’t stop moving, remarkably fluid in his pushing in and out — and _in_ and out — even in his drugged state. He laughs maniacally, letting go of the bite, “ _Breathe_? I made him moan, Lynch, but I will make you _scream_.”

He had been true to his promises enough, in the last hours, that Ronan can’t honestly be surprised when Kavinsky presses on his back - forcing him down, making his cock drag on Adam’s thigh — and thrusts into him with little, erratic change of angle. It’s Ronan himself that makes the mistake of bending a bit, to release some tension and maybe lean more into Adam’s hand. The next drag of Kavinsky’s cock lands somewhere horrible and marvellous at the same time and Ronan can feel it all the way up to the tip of his fingers.

“Yes. Just. _Here_ ,” Kavinsky punctuates each word with a thrust, and each thrust punches a strangled curse out of Ronan’s throat. The more it keeps at it, the less Ronan can properly think, moaning at the flames burning through his body.

It goes on for more than it should be realistic, but Kavinsky is burning a cocaine high down on Ronan’s body. At some point, Ronan must have slipped off Adam’s shoulders, because in a rare moment of clarity — when he manages to draw in a full breath, as instructed — he finds himself curled over Adam’s lap, forehead leaning heavily in the bent of Adam’s elbow. Ronan’s bare knees are pressing down on the humid night-time grass, barely steadying him against Kavinsky’s coke-fuelled fucking, and yet the only unwavering point is the grasp of Adam’s hand from behind his ear all the way around his nape.

That’s the last coherent thought Ronan manages to grasp on. Then Kavinsky pinches at his nipples, rolling his hips continuously in a torturous thrusting, and Ronan is back to the suffocating reality of his body — the squelching sound of a thorough fucking, how hot he feels, how much _he wants to come_. He’s shivering and moaning, just on the verge, when Kavinsky promptly snatches his hand down to grab the base of Ronan’s cock, _hard_.

“ _Ah_! Nghrgh…” Ronan’s ears echoes with his own moans, changing pitch towards a strangled sound. Kavinsky laughs, in an unrelenting frenzy that Ronan would come from, if he could. Instead, his body sizes and pulses around Kavinsky’s cock without a real release. It’s just pressure and something sharp as electricity running through his nerves.

Ronan _screams_. And it feels good, almost freeing in his roughness, so he screams some more.

Kavinsky is laughing and moaning, maniacally, but it doesn’t matter. The grass is damp, he’s using Adam as a pillow while he gets fucked, but it doesn’t matter. His mouth is pooling with saliva, he can’t stop screaming, but it doesn’t matter. He never wanted anything like this, _but it doesn’t matter_.

It doesn’t matter because Kavinsky is letting go of his cock, and Ronan is coming, and coming, and _coming_.

He must have blacked-out for a bit. The next thing Ronan knows is that his vision is slowly recovering from blackness, and he can feel his heart in his throat, in his ears, in his mouth, in his bones. Everything is pulsing, especially his hole, clenching around nothing for the first time in _way_ too long. He slumps onto himself and onto Adam. His arms are circling Adam’s waist in an excessively strong grip, but he refuses to let go, overwhelmed past the point of coherence.

Kavinsky bends back down after pulling up his trousers and sucks at the blotched bite mark he has left on Ronan’s still-shivering shoulders. His eyes stay pierced onto Adam’s murderous ones. They are both breathing heavily and it’s with deep satisfaction that Kavinsky realizes it might not all be _just_ rage, from Adam’s part.

“Until the next blackmail, Parrish,” he smiles darkly.

He leaves them there — curled around each other but marked by Kavinsky’s presence in a perfect, well-rounded way. It’s a good sight.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Detailed outline: this ficlet will present a sexual situation initiated by coercion/blackmail from Kavinsky's part. Even though Adam and Ronan discussed their commitment in going forward with the demanded exchange, the situation is largely non-consensual. The "dub con" tag is present for some instances of Ronan/Adam interaction that will be intimate and heartfelt, the characters will probably be up for having these contacts consensually in another situation. There will be violence, both physical and emotional, and some intense involvement of all the parts in the sexual act._  
>   
>   
>  Thank you very much for reading!
> 
> If you still alive after this trail of morally questionable (with only one clear answer which is OMG NO) fic, we can all organize a trip to church. 
> 
> Let me know in forms of kudos&comments and/or asks&incoherent screaming in my [Tumblr](http://seekthemist.tumblr.com). Regardless of what I've just written, I don't bite ;)


	5. Adam/Ronan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After TheSin© that went on stage with chapter 4, we restart the transmission of the [Kinky Prompt Fills](http://seekthemist.tumblr.com/post/159187801724/thread-starters-kink-edition) with some everloving Pynch.
> 
> **Content Warning for this chapter** : Breath control play/Chocking, Anal Sex, Vaguely (but happily) under-negotiated kink. ****  
>   
> 

  
  


**Adam/Ronan + “Wrap your hands around my throat.”**

  
  


“Ronan…”

Adam’s breath is laboured, sweat plastering hair on his temples and glistening on his collarbone.

Ronan puts a stubborn effort into ignoring him but still hitches Adam’s legs up — to fit them better in the curve of his elbows — when Adam squirm against him.

“Ah…” Adam exhaled, eyes fluttering just like his hole around the root of Ronan’s cock. “Ronan, come on… _please_.”

Ronan grits his teeth. He hates it, Adam begging. He hates it because he would do everything, _anything_ , to fulfil his wishes. Sometimes, though, Adam’s wishes are just _crazy_.

“No way in hell,” he mutters, and yet he bends down under the questing pull of Adam’s hands against his nape.

Adam latches his mouth on Ronan’s neck, kissing and sucking. It’s loving, and careful with the spots that are still yellowish and bruised with the reminder of Adam’s — the demon’s — hands choking him.  
Ronan sighs and rocks into him. For a moment they just move against each other, naked in the comfort of the Barns, Adam bent in half to accommodate Ronan above him — inside him.

“Just do it,” Adam insists, voice quivering with pleasure against the skin of Ronan’s neck. “Wrap your hands around my throat.”

Ronan shuts his eyes tight, turning his head around to kiss the vulnerable, veiny spot on the inside of Adam’s wrist.

“Stop it,” he retorts, “there is no need for…for this…for this crazy…atonement of yours.”

Adam pushes himself against Ronan, chasing the pressure of Ronan’s cock, and laughs between moans, drunk on sensations. “It’s not an atonement!”

“Yeah, sure.”

“It’s _not_!” Adam insists and Ronan just snorts. “It really isn’t, Ronan, come on…”

He lifts his head from Ronan’s neck and drags his hands forward, pushing on Ronan’s cheek until he relents and turns to face Adam.

“It’s not,” he repeats. “I don’t want it to feel bad and…balance it out, or whatever. I want it to feel _good_ ,” he stresses, and his eyes are so liquid and heated that it’s difficult not to believe him.

Ronan averts his eyes again, munching on his conflicting thoughts. Adam caresses his face and then taps his fingertips on Ronan’s lips, swollen from kisses. Ronan sighs and opens his mouth, taking two fingers in his mouth and sucking on them, slowly, until his heart stops jumping. He catches himself unconsciously matching his breath with Adam’s.  
When he looks at him again he feels much more in synch, entwined with him body and mind.

“Put your hands on my wrists,” he whispers, waiting for Adam to comply. “You push by the side and I stop.”

“Deal,” Adam confirms, voice way too dreamy for what they just green-lighted.

His hands grasp with a steady, trusting grip, and Ronan gets reminded why he loves them all over again. Ronan’ stomach does a funny twist and there is little he can do but hoist Adam’s legs higher, hooking his knees over his shoulders, and bend down to kiss him.

It must be a bit uncomfortable, strained, and yet Adam wails around Ronan’s tongue and suck on it while Ronan resumes his thrusts inside him. All Ronan’s leverage is on his elbow by the sides of Adam’s head and it feels so close, so good. He wants it _forever_.

Ronan waits until he finds the perfect angle, the perfect rhythm — and for them both to be in tune with it. Then he wraps his hands around Adam’s throat and _pushes_.

Adam bends his head back with a gurgling, moaning breath. His eyes are wide, overcome by the blackness of his dilated pupils.

Ronan leaves his mouth free and moves to kiss his face. There shouldn’t be a real risk of Adam suffocating — not with most of Ronan’s hands on his collarbones and just his thumbs really pressing on the neck — but Ronan still obsesses over every little sign in Adam’s expression.

Adam just gapes, blurry in his focus. His little “Ah…Ahn…ngh… _nnaah_ ,” are timed with Ronan’s thrusts inside him, wet and smooth. He would try to meet up and counter them, usually, but now he just stays still and _takes it_.

A constantly conflicted part of Ronan’s brain wishes it wouldn’t feel so good to have him so close, so securely in his grab, so _possessed_. But it does, it _so_ does. Adam is scoarching hot below him, around him, and he’s starting to lose focus on everything.

Adam’s hands are still on Ronan’s wrists, but he doesn’t seem to be anywhere close to push him away. Rather, he keeps Ronan’s hands secured around his neck. He’s drooling a bit, flushed, legs twitching on Ronan’s shoulders. There is little that Ronan can do but to suck the spit away from the side of Adam's mouth.

“Rrr…ahn…” Adam gurgles. It’s possibly meant to be Ronan’s name but it’s so plastered on Adam’s tongue it sounds like a purr and a roar at the same time.  
He claws at Ronan’s arms. Folded up as he is, he comes all the way up his chest, seizing with enough force to buck around Ronan’s cock.

Ronan’s vision is a black, deep tunnel, and the only point of focus for his mind are the thumbs against Adam’s neck. He’s not sure if the pulse he’s feeling is Adam’s, or his, or them both’s.  
Ronan thrusts, and thrusts, and keeps fucking into Adam until the shivering subsides and all that’s left is Adam's hole, gaping in pulses around Ronan’s cock.

Ronan’s very _bones_ feel like bursting.

He releases his grip on Adam’s neck and slides his hands back — to cradle his head and moan deeply against the softness of Adam’s cheek. He rejoices on Adam’s gulping breaths against his skin and just _lets go_ , coming inside him in a peak of frenzy.

Adam’s legs slides away from his shoulders in a halted movement, while Ronan rocks slow, then slower, than _slowest_. His breath is a mess and he’s full to the brim of stuff too complicated to name.

Adam lets go of his wrists, when Ronan stills, finally. His trembling hands stoke all the way up the tattooed shoulders and Ronan sags against him, hiding his face in the bent of Adam's neck.

“Thank you,” Adam whispers, voice trembling and hoarse, leaning his head heavily against Ronan’s.

Ronan just kisses his neck — blotched red and overly warm but _unharmed_ — and stays draped all over him.

Maybe not _all_ crazy pleads are so crazy after all.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so sososo SO much for reading, and for all the appreciation that you've shown for my porn. 
> 
> At the moment my [Tumblr](http://seekthemist.tumblr.com)'s ask box has A PILE of prompts that I need to complete, and I swear I will get on it slowly but steadily <3
> 
> I keep being as Thirsty® as every creator for kudos, comments, crazy message and paper airplanes (especially if they are so flattering and hilarious as the ones you usually send me) so don't be shy!!!


	6. Adam/Ronan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another amazing prompt [from this list](http://seekthemist.tumblr.com/post/159187801724/thread-starters-kink-edition), requested for Pynch and perfect for the emotional and verbal constipation of our OTP to rule them all <3
> 
> Since I love my boys so much there will be some heartfelt buildup before the content warning become applicable and we get to a constructive way to burn Ronan's infamous destructive edge off <3  
>   
>  **Content Warning for this chapter** : Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Rough Sex, Bondage (binding, gagging), Multiple Orgasms/Overstimulation.  
>   
> 

  
  


**Adam/Ronan + “I’ll do anything you want me to do to you, but you have to say it out loud.”**

  


  
  


Since Gansey had died and then came back to life, there have been plenty of days. Good days, dull days, great days.

This is not a good day. 

This day sucks in a way that’s infuriating, and everything in Ronan’s behaviour has been broadcasting the concept for the last twelve hours.

Adam has the vague recollection of waking up at some indistinct point near dusk, constantly overly aware of movements around him. He had sagged back in the plush pillows of Ronan’s bed, though, persuaded by a familiar and comforting shushing. He had rolled onto his stomach, a thick quilt dragged all the way up the back of his head the last thing he remembers. When he woke up again, Ronan was nowhere to be seen, his side of the bed cold and abandoned.

The more Adam tracks Ronan’s steps the more similar it is to tracking a hurricane: the drink cabinet open, even though they had emptied its content weeks ago to get rid of temptation; the barn with the cattle with the door left ajar, random objects scattered around as if kicked away and the sleeping cows covered in ridiculous Niall’s dream trinket in something akin to frustration; deep tire tracks in the soft spring ground, speaking of angry revving and twists.

Ronan is still missing from the picture.

He returns smelling of gasoline, boots are muddy and black jeans somehow full of sticky weeds. Still, when Adam manages to wander close to Ronan for a scarce, dynamic second, he doesn’t smell alcohol. It ought to account for something.

Trying to elicit a couple of sentences from Ronan is a useless struggle punctuated by huffs, tongue clicks and unintelligible mumbles.

In his path through the kitchen, Ronan drops rugs in his wake, sends Opal’s chewed-over cans flying on the floor from one corner of the room to another, and knocks cereal boxes over. Adam, witnessing the mess from the doorstep, decides he’s quite done with it when Ronan shatters a glass in the attempt to fill it with water. He propels forward as Ronan makes to bend down and pick up the shreds with bare hands.

“Okay, stop.” Adam grabs Ronan’s wrist with a swift movement, holding onto it even when Ronan immediately tries to dislodge himself. “Ronan, that’s enough.”

Adam is no Gansey — leader of men and commander of supernatural forces, handler of Ronan who is something in between the two — but Ronan stills the arm in his grip instead of putting his muscles to good use. He turns to the side, though, refusing to face Adam. 

Ronan’s free hand lifts, almost trembling, to drag over his buzzed head and nail down his nape. He’s so evidently frustrated it almost hurts.

Adam sighs, “Ronan, look at me.”

No response, and Ronan still shuffles in a bundle of restless energy.

“Come on,” he insists, reaching over to cup Ronan’s chin and jaw in the span of three fingers.

Ronan turns under the tiniest suggestion of a pull, after all. His blue eyes are darkened by something between fury and uneasiness. When Adam murmurs, “What’s wrong?” there is no reply but a clench of jaw.

_Nothing. Something, anything. Everything._ Adam can sympathize, after all.

“Ronan,” Adam sighs again, moving slowly closer, until Ronan needs to tilt his head down to keep eye contact under Adam’s fingers guide. “No need for this mess, okay? Whatever you want, I can do it for you.”

Ronan’s teeth grind, uncertain their disbelief. His eyes roll, wandering, until Adam taps with one fingertip on the bone of his jaw and Ronan remembers to look at him.

“Listen,” he insists “I’ll do anything for you. Anything you need.” He surveys Ronan’s eyes and adjusts the aim, “I’ll do anything you want _to you_ , but you have to say it.”

It would be an easy request for 90% of the world’s population, but Ronan looks bent at a weird angle at the sole suggestion of it. And yet, the lure is appealing enough to push him forward, thinning lips through several false starts until he finds he good opening.

“Kiss me?” He clips out, around a deep sigh.

True to his words, Adam’s response is just pressing on Ronan’s chin with his thumb. When the lips open for him, Adam closes the distance, kissing Ronan with all his worth and a good amount of tongue as well.  
Ronan’s lips tremble minutely under his, until he latches on completely and grounds down on the contact.

Adam releases his grip on Ronan’s wrist, dragging his hand all the way up the arm still covered by the leather jacket. He circles Ronan’s shoulders fully and pushes down on them, flushing their bodies together with a suggestive flick of tongue inside his mouth. It makes it easier to match their heights, between leaning upwards and bending Ronan downward.

Ronan cages Adam’s back with both arms, almost shaky in the movement until he squeezes, one hand against his shoulder blades and the other on the small of his back. Adam feels the pressure all over his chest, pulsing along his ribs. It’s delicious and it’s his breath’s turn to shake in the twist of their mouths.

They kiss, and kiss, and _kiss_.

Adam’s fingertips trace the stubble along Ronan’s jaw line, Ronan slides and scratches on Adam’s vertebrae over the well-worn fabric of his t-shirt.

Ronan yields at some indistinct point, opening his mouth further and turning it slightly away from Adam’s with a wound-up, wet wheezing. Adam pants against his face, sucking lightly on his lower lip.

“Shit…” Ronan drags in a distorted whistle.

“Again?” Adam cheekily suggests, still held securely enough in Ronan’s embrace that the constantly starving part of his brain brags, _I want to climb him like a tree_.

Ronan makes a confusing movement with his head, twisting his swollen lips in something indistinct.

_Yes. No. Yes and now._

“Tell me, tell me,” Adam insists, biting lightly on Ronan’s cheek and licking on the faint signs he leaves.

Ronan’s voice stutters close to Adam’s hearing ear, as if the want itself were difficult to articulate, “Tie me. Gag me. Then _fuck me_ until you say so.”

Adam leans back against the arms on his back, regarding Ronan with a thoughtful, captivated look.

“Interesting proposition.”

He lets go of Ronan’s shoulders and face and reaches back to grab Ronan’s hands away from his back. Once he has them, Adam drags Ronan to the bedroom upstairs without further questions.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Upstairs, Ronan disentangles himself in a rush that feels like a return of the frustrated fury from before, eager to strip the clothes off himself. If he doesn’t tear them is just because money can buy a lot of quality. 

There is something fundamentally indecent in having him completely naked, boxers still in his hand, while Adam is fully dressed. It might be part of the reason he painstakingly picks up every item Ronan scattered around and puts them down in more sensible places. Ronan frets, restless on his feet, his cock hardening gradually.

“Well?” Adam asks, lifting one eyebrow and doing his best to hide the constant screaming of his brain, singing tunes to Ronan’s body as if he had not see it before. “Why are you not on the bed yet?”

Ronan’s eyes widen in what Adam recognize as soothed anxiety, but he still scoff. “I don’t know, Ms. Rottenmeier, you’re housekeeping.”

Adam laugh with mirth, strangely thrilled by how much trust Ronan is pushing onto him, onto his promise to provide to his needs. Ronan sits on the unmade bed and goes to lay down, face up, only to scowl at himself and turn face down. His arms reach up and he grabs onto the headboard, as if testing the position.

Suddenly, Adam really, _really_ needs to be naked as well. 

He drops all his clothes disorderedly on top of Ronan’s, but stops by the curtains before climbing on the bed. The room falls into the shadow cast by the midday light.

“What do you think?” He asks, dangling the two strips of curtain holder fabrics close to Ronan’s face, letting them graze against his skin.

Ronan shudders, pressing his face more against the pillow — Adam’s pillow. “Yeah, okay, whatever.”

A small tap from Adam by the side of his hands is sufficient for Ronan to unclench his grip on the hardwood and present his wrists to Adam. There isn’t a lot of fabric to go by, but it’s still enough to wrap over Ronan’s leather bands and then knot tightly on the headboard.The constriction would never be enough to hold Ronan there if he wanted to get away, but as he is — more than happy to sag down against the knot, finger stretching and then grabbing onto the to wood again — it suffices.

Adam watches the nervous lines of Ronan’s naked body — muscle trembling enough to make his limbs jerk in little twitches, the tattoo over his back brutally prominent and fluttering as a living painting with the same rhythm — and his throat constricts. Ronan grinds against the sheet in angry movements, venting whatever he had been feeling inside since this morning on a new outlet of sensation, almost forcing himself to feel it over the normal pacing of sex.

“Stop,” Adam murmurs, pressing one hand down on the back of Ronan’s neck. “Tying your feet as well would be a pain.”

Ronan groans something foul and overly-rude, but he does still, digging his nails against the polished, unyielding wood. Adam deems it as a good moment to circle his head with the remaining strip and drag it between Ronan’s teeth, gagging him. He’s pretty sure Ronan moans, but with his tongue pressed against the fabric it’s difficult to know.

“Now…” he considers, knotting the fabric just below the back of his head, “…if you want me to slow down…or stop…or whatever, just un-gag you so you can talk to me…smack your hand twice on the wood.”

Ronan turns towards him, conveying with a glare the amount of _bullshit_ he regarded the request as. 

“No, seriously, Ronan, you don’t agree and you can quite literally _fuck yourself_ , see if I care.“ 

A squirm closer to a jerk follows, restless enough that Adam briefly wonders if Ronan is going to kick him or something. He doesn’t, however, and once he’s done screaming with his whole body, Ronan smacks his bound hands against the wood, palm first.

The sound is sharp and obnoxious, but Adam feels himself snickering. "Yeah, easy as that,” he stresses, leaning over to pick up the lube from the bedside drawer. “Up on your knees, now.”

As soon as Ronan stops shuffling and settles into the position without having the use of his arms, Adam opens his cheeks and slides one finger in completely. Ronan’s back jumps.

Normally, Adam quite enjoys the act — both in giving and receiving it — and would gladly take it slow. In this specific situation, though, it does neither feel right or appropriate, and he rushes through the process like a man on a mission. With enough lube to drip down on his palm, he adds a second finger as soon as the fist one manages a couple of thrusts without resistance. As he does the same with the third, Ronan opens his legs a bit more, feet digging and dragging through the sheets. 

Ronan’s cock bobs under him, hard, and Adam’s throbs in sympathy and lust.

The clenching around Adam’s fingers has just about relented a bit when Adam gets up on his knees and forces Ronan’s legs even wider. He feels like a horrible tease, but he flicks his little finger against the rim, sliding just the tip inside. It’s enough to make Ronan gurgle behind his gag. 

Adam withdraws his fingers all at once and lines up, sliding the head in and then bottoming up with three incremental thrusts. Ronan shakes, out of coordination, grabbing the headboard with unsteady fingers, and Adam’s brain soars with red, bloody _want_. 

He slides his hands along Ronan’s hips, finding the best grip on the curve of his bones to stop him from squirming. Once he concedes him a couple of testing slides — in, out, then _in_ , then almost completely out — Adam starts fucking him in a way that is fitting for today’s madness.

The last time Adam had been anywhere close to this intensity with him was more than a month ago, when Ronan returned after two weeks away in DC to find Adam _itching_ for him. It doesn’t quite compare, even, because Ronan was free to move, free to moan, free to cooperate — and now he isn’t. The halted, stifled sounds that filter from the gag make Adam feel _indecent_ and selfish in his fucking him. 

Not even two minutes later Ronan’s shoulders go up, giving his head somewhere to burrow in, and he cants against Adam’s cock in small circles through the grip on his hips. His hole squeezes Adam out and then pulses around his hardness.

Adam feels really breathless and slows down a bit. “Ronan, did you just _come_?”

Ronan nods in a jerk, cheekbones flushed and eyes just close stubbornly.

“Jesus Christ.” In any other occasion, he would stop and change the pace of their having sex. In this case, though, his mind echoes with Ronan’s request and he’s really _feeling it_ rather than just humoring it. “Well, I’m not done with you yet, don’t get soft,” he breaths out.

He bends to kiss behind Ronan’s ear and resumes his thrusting. Ronan’s scream is in the vibration of his neck rather than the sound, blocked by the fabric, but when Adam looks quickly up, his hands are desperately holding onto the headboard and are nowhere near close trying to smacking it. 

Adam takes a deep breath and loses himself in the act and in Ronan, whose body is always a furnace of marvelously fit muscles twisting around him. He makes sure their position is comfortable and his thrusts smoothly angled and then lets himself be greedy and _ravenous_. Ronan’s skin is increasingly sweaty and sensitive under Adam’s sudden series of kisses and he seems to be constantly trying to moan and buck back, so it mustn’t be so bad.

Adam leads Ronan through the oversensitive shaking, to the following lassitude and back to an invested twitching, the creaking of the bed getting more furious in the process. It’s weirdly wonderful and fulfilling, and it makes easy to persuade his body to hold on _just some more_ , to keep going a bit longer. 

He doesn’t exactly know how long it goes on, but Ronan’s gurgling half-dies off and changes pitch, flush expanding along his body. His hands let go of the headboard and he just lets his shoulders drop on the bed, leaving his arms stretched up and hanging by the knot only. 

At the end he shakes around Adam and tightens up as a vice. It’s just _the best_.

“Oh, again…” Adam sighs on his tattooed back and keeps fucking Ronan through his shivering, reaching down to smear the dripping come all over the smooth top of Ronan’s erection. 

Adam doesn’t feel so lucid by the end of it, all his blood in his cock and the heat against Ronan’s skin almost suffocating. He’s only half-aware that his moaning raucously, desperately. 

Then Ronan’s hole quivers around him and relaxes once and for all. It’s almost scary how easy it is to let go and come blindingly inside him, rocking with Ronan’s hips in his hands until his own high subsides.

Adam’s breath is crazy in its panting, hands trembling as they undo the knots, and every nerve is still alight as he flops down beside Ronan. They will really need to get clean, but for now dragging Ronan — eyes glossy and expression astounded — to plaster by his side is a high priority.

When Adam drags the spit-soaked gag away from Ronan’s mouth and tilts his head to kiss him, everything is just soft and overly warm, the furious fretting from before nowhere to be seen.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading! 
> 
> I'm posting this on the verge of a Monday and Ao3 made me regret it by making a mess with the pubication date. But every day of the week is a day better, let's be honest.
> 
> I'm incredibly grateful for all the support I receive for my writing and I can't get enough of your comments (and kudos, asks and the like) so please do keep them coming :DDD 
> 
> Feel free to reach out to me on my [Tumblr](http://seekthemist.tumblr.com) for random blabbering and screaming (everyone can testify I'm super chatty). I'm currently flooded with prompts and I swear I'll fill them all up & post them here in due time :3


	7. Adam/Ronan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Double fill, double filth and double eagerness, squarely from [the sinful list](http://seekthemist.tumblr.com/post/159187801724/thread-starters-kink-edition).  
>   
> I must be honest and say that among the seven so far this one is one of my favourite ficlet, so far, please let me know _each and every one of your thoughts_! :D  
>   
>   
>  **Content Warning for this chapter** : (Dream) Sex Toys, Dirty Talking, Prostate Stimulation, Dry Orgasm, Masturbation  
>   
> 

  
  


**Adam/Ronan + “Bet I can make you come without ever touching your cock” , “Tell me how good this feels”**

  


  
  


Adam readjusts his arms around Ronan’s back for a better grip and buries his face in the crook of his neck. The clammy feeling must be his own fault, because Ronan is just perfectly hot whereas Adam has sweat threatening from every bent of his body.

“So?” Ronan speaks in his hearing ear, keeping Adam just as close. “Thoughts? Comments?” The words are as flippant in the delivery as Ronan is evidently nervous and eager.

“Your mind is a threat to safety and decency, Lynch.” Adam bites down on Ronan’s collarbone, spiteful about the trembling of his own voice.

“Why are you Ganseying about common knowledge, Parrish?” Ronan scoffs, biting him back on his ear lobe. “You want me to stop?” Ronan adds, little more than a whisper.

Adam takes a deep breath and adjusts his legs in Ronan’s grip, to sag more heavily on his lap. He loves it there, perched on the strength of Ronan’s widened thighs, a perfect match between freedom of movement and intimacy.

Ronan is still holding onto the bottom of the weird bulbed dildo, hanging half in and half out of Adam. It’s from a dream of some days ago and it’s weird and impossible — soft and yet unyielding, warmth radiating out in pulses — just like everything else Ronan has ever created.

“No…no, go on,” he encourages, arching his back minutely.

Ronan runs his free hand up the curve of Adam’s spine and presses down to keep it bent, forcing Adam to straighten up. Losing the hiding place in Ronan’s neck is frustrating, but having his plush lips kissing openly and wetly down Adam’s chest kind of makes up for it. “What about _you_ go on?” Ronan suggests, a teasing smirk against the skin near Adam’s nipples.

Adam rolls his eyes, “You’re _insufferable_.” He presses one hand against the crown to Ronan’s shaved head — a clear request to keep putting his mouth to a good use — and twists his hips. The movement makes the dildo slide further, right over the crest of another bead. Ronan sucks on Adam’s nipple and his own body twitches, just a bit, just enough to beat the resistance and fuck himself further down.

“Ah…” Adam clenches slightly against the sensation, and something in the bends and twists inside his body sparks all the way up his head, passing though Ronan’s possessive hand and mouth. He kneads on the solid muscle of Ronan’s shoulders for purchase and bears down some more, swallowing another bead.

Ronan’s blue eyes look up at him. “Greedy,” he murmurs, voice distorted by the flat of his tongue against Adam’s skin.

“Feels strange,” Adam laments, even with his throat gulping around a moan. 

Ronan strokes all the way down his back, cupping his ass cheeks. He turns his hand and the toy he’s still gripping follows. “Strange good or strange bad?”

“Oh God…” Adam locks his knees tighter around Ronan’s thighs, squirming. Ronan helps him take the last of the bulbs in, pushing relentlessly until Adam’s body itself locks everything in position. Adam’s hand scrambles from the back to Ronan’s head to his jaw, making him lift his head and dropping his forehead against it. “Goo…nh…good…strange good…”

Ronan tilts his head to kiss him, breath heavy. “Tell me how good it feels.”

Adam rocks against Ronan’s hands, pressing his own fingers down on every piece of Ronan’s skin he can find. For several long seconds, he just kisses him, tongue nervous and electric. “It’s not like your fingers,” he says at the end, sucking on Ronan’s bottom lip, “it…presses around…and it’s bent strange…and it doesn’t move a lot.” His eyelids flutter, he would like to escape some of the weird pressure but it’s his own body generating it. He moans again, his ribs constricting against his lungs. “Are you gonna fuck me? Now? I’m opened up, come on.”

“Jesus _fuck_ ,” Ronan kneads down on the soft muscle of Adam’s ass in retaliation, clearly tempted, by the way he bucks up. “Shit. Let me try something else, can I? In the dream it did something else.”

“You and your toys,” Adam murmurs, sliding his hand away from Ronan’s face and dragging his lips on the side, to kiss the strong tendon along the neck. He lets his hand wander down Ronan’s chest, sitting squarely on his lap and bracing for whatever twisting and thrusting he expects Ronan to follow with.

However, Ronan just taps experimentally on the flat bottom of the dream-toy, and Adam is struck with the puzzling impression of the bulbs _shifting_ to press squarely inside Adam in _just the right way_. Adam takes a shuddering breath and he’s just about to ask about it, when every bulb starts to _vibrate_.

He chokes on his on tongue, twisted on words he never gets to articulate, mouth resting open on Ronan’s skin. He gulps weakly, trying to pull in air, but every time he thinks he almost got it the vibration builds up, and up, _and up_ , until each and every one of his nerves are alight and concentrated in sensitive spots of his lower half he wasn’t even aware _existed_ before today. 

Ronan burrows one hand in his hair and Adam becomes aware of it only when the yanking leads him to lift his head, looking at Ronan.

“Adam?” Ronan murmurs, careful, fingers strong on his scalp — which might be sensitive as well, given how much Adam is _feeling it_.

Adam gapes, breathlessly, cheek brazing with heat, and just leans back on Ronan’s hand. “A- _ah_ …aaahn…”

Once he starts moaning, he can’t stop. 

Ronan looks at him, a smile full of teeth widening up, as if he’s ready to _eat him whole_. “I knew you’ll like that,” he says, and he keeps hold of his hair while stroking up Adam’s side. 

The sensation is maddening — too much, _not enough_ — and Adam squirms against and away from it at the same time. “You…ah-re…Ah!…a fucker,” Adam stutters, the profanity good on his tongue, appropriate in his rarity. 

Ronan chuckles deeply, a bit maniacally, and combs away from Adam’s head to go all the way down his back, stroking all over. Adam hates him and loves him for how good it is, and hiccups in the attempt of cursing him while his head lolls on the side. 

“Feels good?” Ronan muses again, latching his mouth on Adam’s shoulder. 

Everything shudders, because _he_ ’s shuddering. “Damn…” every vowel is distorted in his mouth and Adam catches himself squirming on Ronan’s lap in little mindless waves, following Ronan’s hands or a particular quiver of vibration inside him. “Damn you… _yes_ …” part of Adam doesn’t want to give Ronan the satisfaction but, truly, it’s difficult to hear it over the rushing of his own blood. 

It doesn’t matter how he moves, rocks or shift, the dildo stays coiled inside him and pulses against him, building up speed every time Adam clenches too hard against it. It’s faster and more persistent than Ronan has ever fucked him and it makes Adam _ravenous_. 

“Touch me, _touch me_ ,” he demands between moans, almost disoriented behind the spotty black of his shut eyes.

“I am,” Ronan replies, playful but with a deep, gravelling voice that betrays how turned on he is.

Adam snarls, pressing his naked legs to Ronan equally naked thighs, and opens his eyes again, piercing through Ronan’s stare. He stops grasping on Ronan’s arm and drags his trembling right hand down, over miles of smooth, muscled skin and all the way to Ronan’s tented briefs. “Here,” Adam burrows his hand inside the fabric, wrapping it around Ronan’s cock — hard enough to be wet and _jumping_ in Adam’s grip — and grazing Ronan’s lips with his own’s, “Here…touch me…make…Ah…make me come…AH!…I _need_ it.”

Ronan’s eyes go really dark and he kisses Adam violently, perfectly, making his heart jump in his chest and his insides clench again on the beads. Adam whimpers around their tongues and jerks Ronan off with more intent, one arm still flung around his shoulders to press his fingers down the inked skin. 

Ronan groans and separates to take a breath, shuttering and failing. “But you are…I bet you can…you can come just like this, without my hand on your cock.”

“No,” Adam whines, wetly, even while his body screams _yes_. “I can’t. Feels weird,” his back is arching against his will and he can feel the pressure all the way up his stomach, all the way inside his dick. The vibrations don’t relent, ever, not even for a second.

“Oh, you can…” Ronan sighs, awed, and kisses Adam’s face. 

Adam wants to pick the matter in his hands but somehow he can’t, as if letting go of the grip around Ronan’s back means falling into the oblivion. The possibility of quit stroking Ronan’s dick don’t even remotely occurs to him, conversely. So he’s struck there, trembling and moaning, legs coiling around Ronan in an useless attempt to release the pressure.

Then Ronan runs his fingers on the tense skin above Adam’s hips and murmurs, “Adam,” against his ear and it’s just _over_.

Adam’s world collapses and he _screams_ , curling onto himself and around Ronan, legs clenching on Ronan’s sides and nails running on his back. He comes dry, for a second, before his dick gets the message with the second wave of shudders and makes a mess on their chests.

He comes, and _comes_ , eyes crossing, for longer than he has ever done before.

The vibrations inside him die out in the exact moment he’s over the peak, leaving him melt and fulfilled without the pain of over-stimulation — as magical and unbelievable as everything Ronan creates is. 

Adam drop his forehead against Ronan’s, the deep familiar blue of his eyes almost completely swallowed by his pupils and his gaze hyper-focused. He can’t feel his limbs, he can’t feel _anything_ but the crazy drumming of his heart, and his hand is just shaking around Ronan’s cock, now, but that doesn't seems to stop the eagerness.

“Amazing…you’re _amazing_ ,” Ronan moans against Adam’s lips, in awe, and still adds himself to the mess between their bodies with a wholehearted shiver.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading! 
> 
> All your reactions — from detailed ramble to incoherent screaming to thumbs up — are always incredibly welcome, especially if you feel like interacting with me through the Comments and/or the ask box of my [Tumblr](http://seekthemist.tumblr.com)! Don't be shy :DDD
> 
> More to come, of course, so stay tuned!


	8. Adam/Ronan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm a predictable little bastard so:  
> a- I love this prompt (as usual [from this list](http://seekthemist.tumblr.com/post/159187801724/thread-starters-kink-edition)) so much I CANNOT EVEN  
> b- it was requested as Pynch and the main action is indeed Pynch but Sarchensey is there and it involves a bit of OTP/OT3/OT5/Whatever game.
> 
> Are my own kink and preferences showing? Probably. Do I care? Not likely.  
>  **Content Warning for this chapter** : Vague Voyeurism, Public displays of affection/sexual acts, Blowjobs, Mentions of weed, Implied underage drinking, General risky behaviours in a club  
>   
> 

  
  


**Adam/Ronan + “I don’t care if they’re watching. I’m not done with you yet.”**

  


  
  


Low lights reflect on wooden furniture, ever-changing on a spectrum of warm colours. Broad squares of fabric hang on unevenly painted walls, almost transparent in their thin quality, easy to merge with the smoke trailing through the whole open space.

Adam tilts his head back, following the smoke rising up. His eyes are burning slightly and it’s easier to keep them half close. For once, he does not feel exhausted, world crossing over and bones screaming for some sleep. He just swings with the music, rolling in the cage of Blue and Gansey’s arms, and lets the bass of the music pulse through his veins.

“Where did Henry find this place, again?” Adam asks, bearing down on Gansey’s shoulders with one arm. Blue’s laughter chirps behind him, her forehead rolling between Adam’s shoulder blades and slender fingers hanging in the belt-loop of his jeans.

Gansey cranes his head forward and sideways, silently demanding, until Adam combs his hand upwards through the hair on his nape. “No idea,” he groans through his words, satisfied, and hooks his thumb in the belt-loop next to the one conquered by Blue. Without even discussing it, they stretch their hands blindly and link their fingers together, Adam’s hips squeezed underneath. “It’s a good place, though, isn’t it?”

The music is deep and languid in its catchy rhythm, perfect for Adam and his sole hearing ear. Everything is warm but not overcrowded. The shadows are a dynamic thing and every little group of people has its own bubble. “So good, so so good,” Adam confirms, dropping a cheek on Gansey’s shoulder. He has never been much of a dancer but it’s easy to rock around with Gansey and Blue, inhaling deeply.

When he lets his eyes focus again, Henry is approaching, sliding through the other people in the tiny dance-floor to get to the three of them. The glass in his hands is a big, pint-sized thing and yet the content it’s too coloured to be anything but a cocktail. 

“My King, my Queen, my Parrish!” 

“How did you get that much alcohol?” Blue promptly asks, from behind Adam, and her free hand reaches over to the glass. 

“Puppy eyes and _not_ mentioning how this is our _high school_ graduation party, _ever_ ,” Henry bats his eyes, all sugar-coated innocent mischief that doesn’t mention the fake IDs. He keeps a grip on the cocktail while Blue takes a long sip and moves it out of the way when she’s done. Adam can’t really see but he’s fairly sure they’re kissing behind his back. 

Gansey, in front of him, delicately drags Henry’s arm over and bends down to take his share from the same glass, batting his eyes at the strength of the alcohol. Henry resurfaces from behind a minute after, balancing himself on Adam’s shoulders to lean back over towards Gansey. His hair are even wilder than before, but still defying gravity, and Adam feels his own smile widening while relenting his grip on Gansey’s hair for Henry to take over. There is something hypnotic in the way they collide together — lips on lips, tongue furling only briefly, exposed, before disappearing back in the privacy of their mouths — as if Gansey is so above them in his loved perfection that every kiss he gets involved in is like dragging a divinity down to heart.

The cocktail is still hovering around, well within Adam reach, if he ever wanted to drink it. Adam, however, never wants a drink, ever. With Blue twisting by his side and popping back up from under his arm while Henry nips at Gansey’s lips in front of them, a different type of want coils in his stomach — not for these hands, not for these lips, maybe just _not only_.

He groans under his breath, taking half a step back and looking around. “Where is my boyfriend?” he blurts out, dissatisfied. 

Henry separates from Gansey with a wet sound, laughing softly when the kisses move to his face, and reaches over to get Blue more tightly in the cluster around the single cocktail-pint glass. “With the other drink. At our table. Says _no way in fucking hell, Cheng_ about the dance-floor.”

Adam rolls his eyes and fist-bumps Henry, refraining from saying anything to Gansey, since Blue has dragged him down by the jaw and he looks fairly distracted — one hand dragging along the curve of her waist, grasping helplessly at the fabric of that crazy mixture between a net and an oversized t-shirt she’s sporting in place of a dress. He just takes his leave and moves away from the core of flashing lights that counts as a dance-floor in the tiny club. 

It is virtually impossible to lose anyone and anything around, given the size of the place, but between trails of thin smoke and the immediately dimmed-out lights, Adam finds himself disoriented nonetheless.

Finding Ronan again was like latching on a magnetic pole. Adam admires him for a second: black jeans and a tank top crazily decorated by Blue, legs wide and arms spread, Ronan makes a booth big enough for at least eight people virtually unapproachable. There is no scowling on his face, not while he stares right back at Adam, a smirk tilting his lips.

Ronan slides sideways on the pillows, towards the very corner of the booth and more behind the table covered in glasses, to make space for Adam while he approaches. “Are you done taking Cheng’s place in the humping session?”

Adam snorts, “There was no humping session. And you were supposed to come back with Henry.”

“Looked interesting enough from here,” Ronan muses, pointing at the dance-floor with a tilt of his head. Blue, Gansey, and Henry are closer than Adam would have figured, twined with each other. Blue is kissing Henry again. “The drink is there if you…”

Adam stops Ronan mid-sentence, pushing him more squarely against the wood of the booth and plastering against his side to kiss him.

“Mhn…”

It’s not clear who murmurs, but Adam can feel the vibration along his tongue, reassuring and spurring at the same time, and he lets his eyes close. The dizziness that accompanied him on and off on the dance-floor subsides, slowly, leaving only a vague spinning of the ground underneath. It doesn’t matter, not with Ronan circling his shoulders and pulling at his hair, not with their ankles crossing together. Ronan will tell him what’s up and what’s down.

Adam sags, slowly — sucking the tip of Ronan’s tongue between his teeth in a misplaced attempt to catch half a breath — until an indefinite point between Ronan’s shoulder and biceps is there to serve him as a resting place. It’s a weird position, twisted, and still he moans in satisfaction, making Ronan hum by reflex.

“Wow, you really wanted a kiss,” Ronan breathes on his mouth, scratching lightly at the back of Adam’s head. There is something bewildered in his voice, maybe concious of the music and the sound of people around them.

_I always want a kiss_ , Adam wants to reply. “You weren’t there, I came to get you,” he says instead, and drags Ronan close again for another kiss, careless and demanding. 

There are few parts of Adam that aren’t attuned to quiet and restrain, be it for breeding or for habit, so normally he would keep his yearning confined to safe spaces, to privacy. There is something about this evening — about being graduated, being Ivy League, being with friends, being free — that makes him either fulfilled and starving. Or both. Whichever one it is, Ronan is the only answer that the whisper at the back of his brain demands. 

He sneaks both arms around Ronan, lifting the hem of the tank top and sliding his hands inside. Ronan’s skin is warm, smooth, and deliciously familiar, and Adam intently traces it both on the stomach and along the bent of the spine. 

Ronan jumps minutely, turning a bit more towards Adam and letting him roam freely for a while — quite a while. His left hand pulls at Adam’s hair at increments, messing them up at times, and he kisses him deeply, wetly, in all the ways Adam likes it. Sliding his fingertips on the skin of Ronan’s back, Adam can pinpoint the exact moment when Ronan figures out that he’s trying to trace the bottom of the tattoo by pure muscle memory because Ronan shudders, and disentangles from Adam’s tongue to bite down on his lips. 

“Fuck,” it’s more labial on Adam’s lips than a proper swear, Ronan’s eyes still stubbornly shut. “Fuck, you’re making me hard,” Ronan admits, more plainly. 

“Good,” Adam rumbles, throaty. His fingers tingle with pleasure and nothing sounds better. “Good, I want you hard.”

Ronan snickers again, by reflex, and it’s not a real laugh. Maybe it's euphoria by temporary lack of blood in the brain. “Jesus Christ, Parrish, are you _high_?”

Adam slides his lips against Ronan’s, appreciating the wetness, stealing another kiss. There are plenty of reasons to be euphoric, after all, and just as many to be reckless — in a place with no string attached where no one knows him and no one probably will. At the same time, his nose is not so sensitive and all artificial smoke is just smoke for him. As far as Adam is concerned, they could be swimming in weed smoke, and the occurrence would quite fit Henry’s idea of a well-thrown party. “You know…maybe,” he blabbers in reply, “but if I am, you’re as well.”

“Shit,” Ronan drags to his teeth, agreeing. “I can bring you out? Back to the hotel?” He suggests, caring.

So caring. So dear. So out of breath.

“I don’t want to go back,” Adam replies, tilting his head to the side to chase the top strands of Ronan’s tattoo right off the skin of his neck. He keeps his hands inside Ronan’s top, tracing the knob of his spine and the coiled branches he knows are there, sliding over the bumps of his ribs. Ronan acknowledges his passage with small, unconscious jumps of muscles. “Lubes and condoms are there, though. Should have brought them. Open you up and fuck you against the table.”

“You’re driving me _crazy_ , fuck…” Ronan is disbelieving and almost desperate, but still hugs him closer with a pull of the arm around Adam’s shoulders. Serves him well, it’s irrefutably the fault of his earlier admission if Adam’s mind changed its focus from _kisses_ to _dick_. Adam trails his hand down to Ronan’s waist, tracing the curve of his hipbone all the way down to where it dips in his jeans. The hardness he can feel against the inside of his forearm is seriously _alluring_. “Adam, shit…they’re really staring…come on…”

Adam gives one last open-mouthed kiss on Ronan’s offered neck, before turning around to follow the line of sight, resting one temple against his collarbone. It’s difficult to focus, the lights dimmer and more inconsistent with the later hour, but the dance-floor is close enough to spot Blue, Henry and Gansey, still floating around together and sparing more than some casual glances to their lonely booth. He smiles thinly, half-distracted, at their far-from-judgmental faces.

“And you’re really hard…it’s nice, you know” Adam counters, turning back to look at Ronan. It wins him a huff and another long kiss, but Adam doesn’t let himself to get distracted — not when turning his hand around gives him the best grip on the hem of Ronan’s jeans and the skin underneath is _unbelievably_ hot. “I don’t care if they’re watching…I’m not done with you yet.”

Adam keeps the grip on the fabric and detached himself from Ronan, bending down on Ronan’s thighs before sliding all the way to the floor. Ronan look at him like an alien — or a miracle — eyelids batting slowly, but still opens his legs wider when Adam pushes his knees to the side. He stays silent even when the first button of his jeans goes off, and then the second, and then the third, rising one hand to grab on the corner of the table as if in need to steady himself.

“Yes, hold on,” Adam encourages. His mouth waters, greedy, at the indecent sight of the hardness bulging the black boxers, lined sideways and half trapped under black jeans. Ronan makes a strangled sound and in the intoxicated quality of the air Adam takes it as the best consent he’s going to get.

He sneaks his finger in the opening of the underwear, taking a short second of satisfaction in grazing through the brush of Ronan’s pubic hair to grab onto his hardness and get it out in the air. He doesn’t leave it there enough for Ronan to even register a change of temperature, he immediately covers it with his mouth. 

The table creaks softly behind him, under a mindless jerk inflicted by Ronan, and Adam welcomes his other hand combing through his hair, sagging more onto his knees. The music, and the chatter and the general sense of people around them give a different, _unspeakable_ quality to Ronan’s panting breathing. Adam rejoice in all of this, and in the heat radiating off Ronan, for some long moment of experimental sucking. 

For as much as he likes to drag it out in other situations, as soon as his mouth gets used to the weight and the incremental pushing brings Ronan’s dick all the way against his tongue, he really starts work on it properly. He bobs his head up and down, half-imposing a rhythm, half indulging the pulls on his hair and the little jerks of Ronan’s hips. The furls and unfurls the tongue close to the tip every time he comes back up, humming in satisfaction when Ronan’s cock drips wetly on his mouth.

It’s as satisfying as scratching a hitch after being forced to ignore it, and Adam dwells in it, hanging onto Ronan’s sides with both hands. He wants more, it wants it _all_ , and he wants it _immediately_. For once, there are neither reason or perks in waiting, so at the first spasm of Ronan’s stomach Adam just concentrates on the tip, sucking lightly and flicking his tongue just in the right places.

Ronan’s cock twitches in his mouth and his nails drags through Adam’s hair, and it’s really all the warning he needs to be ready to swallow down the punched-out orgasm that follows. Ronan’s moan is strangled, stifled behind a closed mouth and a clenched jaw. When Adam looks up, licking away whatever is left, his arm is strained enough to be trembling in its grip on the table and his eyes are clenched shut, breath heavy through the nose.

Maybe it’s the lights, but Adam likes to believe that Ronan’s cheek are _really_ so flushed up.

“Jesus Christ _fuck_ ,” Ronan grits out, overwhelmed, when Adam neatly tucks him back in his underwear and scrambles up from the floor. Ronan doesn’t let him go far, closing his arms around Adam’s waist and pressing his face hard against his stomach while waiting for his lungs to calm down.

“Oh, gladly, later,” Adam mocks him, not without a basis of frankness, and runs his hands along Ronan’s back and shoulders, fundamentally satisfied.

He’s still there, leaning against the table with Ronan calmer but still clinging, silently considering — and weirdly enjoying — how well-stretched and textured his mouth feels, when the rest of the group deems appropriate to come back to the table.

Gansey doesn’t say anything, but steals the abandoned drink — miraculously not tripped over by Ronan’s rough jerking — and gives a long sip, looking thirsty and flushed with something more than just a crazy dance with too many people. Blue is sporting the grin of a Cheshire Cat and pats Adam vigorously on a shoulder before flopping down right next to Ronan.

“Shut up, not a word,” Ronan snarls, without real heat, and straightens up. He still accepts a high-five from Henry when he slides to Ronan’s other side on the pillows, maybe because Adam gets one too.

Adam chuckles, head still buzzing with relaxed light, and follows the new patterns of the lights through the smoke, contented.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading and for the support you're showing for this crazy collection of ficlets.
> 
> I thrive in your comments and general feedback, and I'm infamous for my general silliness and over-engaging replies, so don't be shy and ramble with me in the comment section or in the ask box of my [Tumblr](http://seekthemist.tumblr.com) <333
> 
> We are nowhere near done with this collection so stay tuned! :3


	9. Adam/Ronan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had to mumble over this [kinky prompt](http://seekthemist.tumblr.com/post/159187801724/thread-starters-kink-edition)for 3000 centuries because it’s HARD, okay? With our favourite boys, it’s SO HARD.  
> On the other hand, today I actually sat down to fill it and it became A MONSTER FILL, as my usual lack of self control goes. I hope you enjoy!  
>   
>  **Content Warning for this chapter** : Outdoor Sex, Intercrural Sex, Masturbation, Phone sex in a public bathroom  
>   
> 

  
  


**Adam/Ronan + “[Text] What are you wearing?”**

  


  
  


Rain batters the tall, slender windows of Room 117. The grey light of the late afternoon clashes with the obnoxiously artificial one of the neons and Adam can feel his eyelids batting roughly twenty times per minute.

His class is having a test run for the upcoming project presentation, and he’s supposed to be focused, to engage, to spot useful bits of feedback from their Professor. However, everyone knows that only your own presentations will be subject of the exam, Adam’s slot was in the morning, and now he is just trying to get through the final hour.

He can see some of his classmates nodding off or even playing with their phones in some cases. Adam has bone-crushing, soul-wreaking years of habit in _How to Not Fall Into Pieces 101_ , and he’s absolutely certain that his attentive façade is spotless to his Professor’s eyes. That is true notwithstanding the fact that when he focuses on the blackboard Christine is presenting and he could have sworn it was still Anne’s turn. 

This might very well be the dullest Monday afternoon in existence. He wants to be done with it so much he can’t even call himself out on the exaggeration. 

His phone vibrates in his pocket.

It’s little more than a burner phone, not even properly backlit, so Adam is much more confident in sliding it out carefully, to rest on his legs, than his classmates should be.

There is one, single message waiting for him. It’s nothing like the wall of text from Blue, Gansey and Henry he’s half-anticipating.

_“R.L.  
What are you wearing?”_

Adam blinks again, taken aback. 

The proper spelling and syntax are not a wonder — Ronan’s phone has an auto-complete and it’s quicker to tap on the suggestions than writing stuff himself. The fact that there is a text to start with is a bit more of a surprise — Opal will call him every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday and pass him Ronan within 2 minutes, additional communications are pre-functionary. The content of the text is the main issue.

Adam’s mind echoes of his peers, bragging about dirty texts and pictures at the canteen, both at Aglionby and now at Columbia, but each and every one of their story is incompatible with Ronan.

He looks down at himself, at the plain but sort-of-smart clothes he invested part of his savings in to fill his college cupboard. Maybe he’s just missing out on a joke.

His fingers hovers over the keys, before tentatively typing back, one-handed.

_“Jeans, shirt, that grey pullover. Why?”_

Several minutes of radio-silence ensues. Maybe Ronan got distracted, or Adam failed to give him the tag-line he needed, or this was just a silly way to make him think about his boyfriend. It is totally working.

Adam has just taken a couple of really incoherent notes on Christine’s presentation, mostly for show, when the phone on his legs vibrates softly again.

_“R.L.  
Found the blue tank top. Got it on, but you’re not matching.”_

Adam sits incredibly straight and lets his lips thin over the unspeakable short-circuit the words cause him — in all their out-fashioned, digital glory on the dim screen.

Of course he knows _what_ tank top Ronan is talking about. And yes, he is not matching the game — with his proper clothes with no character and no history. And no, this is not a shared joke, this is a torture.

The tank top is one of Ronan’s longest-standing possession for his current built. It used to be of a pretty straightforward navy blue cotton, but during one of his first fights with Monmouth’s washing machine Ronan had, in his own words, _fucked shit up four times over with the damn bleach_. The first time Adam got to see it, it was ranging from blue to white in insensible patches and looked like a hippy work from the ‘68. Its inherent ridiculousness relegates it to heavy-duty work in the Barns.

Adam has to swallow a couple of times before texting back.

_“Jesus Christ. I’m in class for 30 min more.”_

What he just wrote should be reason enough to not dwindle on the thought and get back to work, but Adam finds himself incredibly, utterly distracted.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The last time he saw Ronan in that hideous tank top, he was showing him a patch of shallow river that passed through the Barns. In particular, the pool of mud where Opal end up stuck yesterday. In the oppressive heat of the summer, nothing was easier than taking off his shoes and following Ronan through the rocks. 

Considering how legendary their scuffles were, it had been hardly surprising that they ended up messing around on their way back.

Adam sprinkled an handful of water towards Ronan, who made an affronted noise and proceeded to kick on the surface of the river and splash Adam down in return. 

Of the back and forth, Adam mostly remembers the laughter. The exact dynamic of ending up waist-deep in the river is nebulous to the day, even though it likely involved Ronan dragging him down after having fallen before him.

The water was heavenly refreshing against Adam’s overheated skin and glistened along the lines of Ronan’s body, under the light filtering from the trees. Adam panted and lunched to tackle him again, slippering on stones and getting dragged down by the heaviness of wet clothes. 

The final victory had been Adam’s, when he stayed ten seconds longer underwater, splashing Ronan from below, before tripping Ronan over, the fall controlled by a solid grip on his jeans.

When Adam emerged, Ronan was face-first against a mossy rock by the stream bank. “Okay, fuck, I yield, you win,” he said, and he was laughing so hard he had to hold onto the rock to stay still, forehead leaning against the moss. The curve of his nape was exposed, starting an elegant line of muscles opening through his shoulders, running down his spine with rivulet of water. The infamous tank top was plastered on him like a second skin, the black of the tattoo filtering through the white patches of fabric. 

It was ruthless and carefree to watch. Adam’s improper thoughts murmured that he was _provoking_. 

Adam grabbed onto Ronan’s elbow and stumbled a bit through the running water to plaster himself against Ronan’s back, almost falling onto it, pressing him down on the rocks. 

Ronan’s laughter faltered a bit. “Hi, Parrish,” he dragged, trying to turn to look back at him.

“Hi,” Adam countered, breathless, and stopped the movement with a sudden, deep suck onto the side of Ronan’s neck. Ronan swore, surprised, but still tilted his head by the side to leave Adam more space. It was the best and worst type of encouragement to give - in this type of moment, in this type of mood — and it drove Adam to unspeakable lengths. “Let me take off your jeans,” he demanded, munching softly on Ronan’s earlobe. 

Ronan squirmed behind him, but did nothing to really try and dislodge himself — just like Adam did nothing to hide how hard he was getting between their bodies. “Why would I?” Ronan still managed to tease, breathless.

Adam slid his tongue in the inner shell of Ronan’s ear, “'Cause _I won_ , as you said.”

Ronan shuddered again, punctuated by his breath, “Fuck, shit, okay…okay…” He ended up having to dug his chin into the rock to keep himself stable but lift both arms to lead Adam’s hands down. “You too, though, or I swear to God…”

Adam laughed in his ear, interrupting the threat and rushing to undo the jeans, “You can bet on it, Lynch.“ 

The following couple of minutes were a dare game against fate. They sloshed water around, twisted limbs and barely avoided slippering on rocks several times, but they did manage not to break their necks. It was incredibly satisfying to send their trousers and underwear flying over the grass in the banks, and sag back into the water naked from waist down. 

Adam t-shirt floated around in the stream but still obligingly stuck to his chest when Ronan leaned back against him. He dropped his head on Adam’s shoulders and looked at him with a charged smile, dripping water. 

He was hotter than the peak of the summer and impossibly _his_. He said "What now?” but Adam was already grabbing the side of his head to kiss him. Ronan mumbled, bit Adam’s bottom lip out of spite, and then kissed him furiously. The sole possibility of the act never ceased to amaze Adam.

Adam let them sunk shoulders deep in the water. One of Ronan’s hand kept them from shuffling away from the big bank rock and the other reached up to burrow into Adam’s hair and deepen the kiss even further. Adam’s blood was _boiling_ but the water was refreshing, streaming along their bodies while he rocked against Ronan. 

Adam had no reason to feel so fired up, but he was. He was hard, and he wanted, wanted, _wanted_.

It was all too easy to sneak one hand down and wrap it around Ronan’s cock, just as hard as Adam’s. Ronan twitched his mouth away from Adam for a second, swallowing a breathless moan and pulling mindlessly on Adam’s hair.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Adam dragged, shoving against Ronan’s body with enough force to push him against the rock again.

Ronan moaned and laughed at the same time. His hand dropped from Adam’s hair and reached back to his hips, steadying himself with the other on the rock. He canted back, pushing Adam forward, and let Adam’s cock slide between his cheeks again, and again, _and again_ , in time with Adam’s strokes.

Suddenly, Adam regretted not having lube with him. “You’re terrible, _terrible_ ,” he stressed, sucking down on Ronan’s shoulder.

“This was your idea.” Ronan sounded appropriately out of breath and him dropping the top of his chest against the rock only gave them both a better angle.

“Still terrible.”

Ronan snorted, his fingers kneading on Adam’s side, right where he was sensitive. “So what? What are you gonna do?”

Adam found himself staring at him, half twisted around to look back, delirious with excitement and mischief. Hot, _so hot_.

 _Kiss you_ , his mind provided, triggering a crazy flow. _Spank you, suck you, make you come five times, fuck you. All of these. In this order. Not in this order._

Adam groaned, helpless, and bent down to kiss and bite at whatever skin he could reach, mesmerized by the clung of Ronan’s tank top on his back. He stopped the uncoordinated strokes on Ronan’s dick for a second — winning a dissatisfied mumble — and rearranged himself better between a set of rocks on the bottom of the stream. He let his cock slide down on the softness of Ronan’s ass, rocking aimlessly for a second and then settling straight between his spread thighs. “Close your legs up,” he directed, in lieu of an answer.

The imposing height, unforgiving edges and proclivity to fight everything and everyone should have been indication enough for Adam to figure out how this was going to end. And yet, he was caught unprepared by the clench of muscles around his cock as soon as Ronan complied. It was different, broader, more mobile, less directed than a penetration. And it was wet, wet and slippery and surrounded by water.

“Ah…yes…yes, like _this_ …” he begged, thrusting mindlessly and insistently. Ronan’s balls were heavy on top of his cock and something must be good in making the movement broader because Ronan keened and squirmed. The ripple of muscles that ensued was unbelievable. “Shit,” Adam insisted, grabbing him around Ronan’s chest with his free arm — to keep him there, to angle it better.

“Nhrh…Adam, tou…ah… _touch_ me…” Ronan growled, nails digging into Adam’s side, unable to let go of the rock with the other end if he wanted to properly shoulder Adam’s movement.

Adam licked a long way up from Ronan’s back to his nape, and went back from just holding Ronan’s cock to jerking him under water. Ronan moaned high and stuttering and almost smack his face on the rock when his knees gave out.

“Come on, come on…” Adam urged, keeping him up and helping him to regain balance. “ _Tighter_ ,” he almost munched it on Ronan’s shoulder, biting down.

Ronan jumped in his hold. “Fuck…’s fucking slippery, Parrish…” the complain had little ground with how hoarse his voice was, and the returned grip of his thighs was even stronger than before — definitely not grumpy.

Adam rewarded him with a fingertip playing with his cock’s slit and adjusted his thrusting to rub more squarely on Ronan’s sack. Ronan moan escalated in a punched out scream and he got even tighter by reflex, ripping out an entire handful of moss out of the rock. 

With the wetness of the water it was difficult to pinpoint who came first, and Adam lost focus on anything but the shuddering clench of Ronan’s muscles around his erection, for a second. 

When he came back to himself, he was leaning heavily between Ronan’s shoulder blades — between a beak and a talon — and the river was washing away their pleasure. He could hear Ronan’s heart under his ribcage, expanding with every crazy exhale right under Adam’s only working ear; he could catch Ronan’s smell, watered down by the stream and mossy from the stone; he could feel Ronan’s cock, and the fractured moan Ronan breathed out before Adam let him go.

Ronan tentatively released the bruising grip on Adam’s hip and stumbled three times in a row before straightening up for good and turning slowly around in Adam’s embrace. “Holy _shit_ , Parrish…” he breathed out and dragged Adam close for a kiss. 

Given the desperation of it, the edge was evidently not off, not completely. They did not stop mess around in that stream for _quite a while_.

  
  


* * *

  
  


By the time Adam is done daydreaming about it, three-quarter of the class is already out side the door and his eyes feel out of focus. He gathers his things in a haste, sweat threatening his temples.

Never in his life he had to exit a classroom with a hard-on, but trust Ronan fucking Lynch to provide him with the thrill of hiding between a jacket and an umbrella in an attempt to not scandalize his Professor.

He mourns whatever sensible routine he planned for himself in this late afternoon and turns corner after corner to get to the most secluded bathroom on the floor. His dorm is too far away — and too likely to sport a roommate — to work as it should for this emergency. 

He’s texting one handed while he locks the door of the stall behind him, dropping his things on the floor.

_“Call me, you asshole.”_

Regardless of the nothingness that followed Adam’s last message for the rest of the lesson, his phone starts buzzing not even a minute later. Adam, in all his eagerness — the undeniable type, the type that has lead him to unzip his pants and sit down on the toilet cover — takes ten seconds to contemplate how gone he is, before pressing the green button.

He doesn’t talk immediately, and on the other side there is only an uneven breathing to greet him. Maybe they’re both gone in this picture.

“Ronan…” he whispers, struggling to lower his jeans and boxer one-handedly.

“…Adam,” comes trembling from the other side of his crappy burner phone.

If Adam was hard before, he feels like _bursting_ now. He forgets common sense, propriety and spits in his hand without any trace of finesse. Ronan moans around a soft swear in his hearing ear and Adam doesn’t need to ask to know that he’s not the only one with a hand around his cock. 

“Where?” Ronan whispers. Adam closes his eyes at the distant rustling of linens.

“Bathroom. At college. _Damn you_ ,” he bites out. Ronan laughs in a slightly hiccuped way that makes Adam strokes faster. “You’re in bed.” He add, with certainty. Ronan hums in assent.

Tales of camaraderie flourish with heated descriptions, dirty talking and a lot of wishful thinking, when they get around this same point. Adam’s tongue, conversely, seems plastered against the roof of his mouth and the sole idea of running a commentary about what they are doing is _unbearable_. Ronan, unsurprisingly, must feel very much the same, because no additional wording flows. 

Adam concentrates on the canting sounds of Ronan’s breathing and matches the pace of his jerking off with it. It’s a subtle art, but he consciously changes the grip on his erection and waits for them both to hesitate on a inhale too long. Hanging by that thread, he moves his thumb over the crown just like Ronan would do to him. There is a wet sound from the other end of the line. They moan together, on the exhale. 

Everything is hot, crammed and surreal, and Adam just chases it, biting his lower lips.

In the freedom and privacy of the Barns, Ronan is loud enough to be crystal clear even through his crappy cellphone. Even without words, without visual, without _anything_ but heavy breathing, moaning and masturbation, Adam pictures Ronan in so many details he can almost _taste him_. Any other situation, and the keening sound that escapes his clenched teeth would be embarrassing as hell. A couple of swears interject Ronan’s moans.

“Adam…ah!…Co…’m coming.”

Ronan never, ever, told Adam anything like that before. His brain goes in complete shutdown for lack of blood. 

“Ye…Yes… _Ronan_ …”

A wounded, drawn-out sound filters from the phone, but Adam half-covers it with his own strangled moan. He keeps stroking himself over and over, through the dripping of his own come, until he can’t even sit straight anymore and flops down against the wall behind him.

He keeps his eyes closed and refused to worry about anything. 

From hundreds of miles away, Ronan makes small, disbelieving sounds while they catch their breath together.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, I hope you enjoyed this and that your weekend will kick off appropriately after this fanfare (since it's Friday night where I am)!
> 
> Comments, kudos and crazy asks on my [Tumblr](http://seekthemist.tumblr.com) are my favourite thing in fandom life! :D


	10. Adam/Ronan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As usual, I'm a proponent of "no weekend is a good weekend without some porn", so here, have another fill from [the kinky prompt list](http://seekthemist.tumblr.com/post/159187801724/thread-starters-kink-edition)! :D
> 
> This one was specifically requested by Moon_9Sea, not only in terms of prompting sentences but also in terms of content, and I did my best to meet their requirements!
> 
> **Content Warning for this chapter** : Trans Adam, Mild/hinted body dysphoria, Oral Sex, Penetrative Sex, Slight Rough Handling, Car Sex, General Possessiveness.  
>   
> 

  
  


**Adam/Ronan + “I want to make every inch of you mine.” , “Home is too far away. No one’s going to see us here.”**

  


  
  


The BMW speeds up through the dark roads among the woods, leaving Henrietta and heading to Singer's Falls. The blasting music from the half-open windows is there and gone in one second, barely a brief disturbance to the late spring night and its inhabitants.

Inside the car, Adam lets himself relax against the passenger's seat, leaning more heavily against the headrest by the second and enjoying that sweet spot after a night among friends, reasonably fed but not gearing up to fight sleep in favour of obligations just yet.

Ronan's hand is on his left thigh — in obvious disregard of the stick, the gear is not going down anytime soon — strong fingers digging, kneading. It's a habit for them, when they are alone driving and more rarely when they are cluttered and comfortable with Blue, Gansey and Henry. There is a particularly annoying spot of Adam's quad that always gets sore with tension, a dull discomfort in the background that yields and fades only under Ronan's iron grip. It's pleasant, it highlights the curve of Ronan's biceps nicely in the shadows of the vehicle, and Adam sighs, silently.

Ronan eyes him sideways, and drags his hand up a bit more. He has been leaving the habitual spot close to the bent of Adam's knee in tiny increments for the last ten minutes, and it's going to get difficult to maintain that pressure on his finger while Adam's thigh thickens naturally.

Adam fights a smile down and keeps watching straight ahead, but opens his legs just a bit more. In a silent sync of unexpressed cues, Ronan stretches his arm, sneaking his hand down the curve and up some inches more. His nails drag on the fabric of Adam's light jeans and Adam has to concentrate on not twitching. He turns his head towards Ronan, only to find him stubbornly staring at the road with a stony expression, even while his hand scratches and strokes, and his thumb is almost pressed on the vee of Adam's legs.

"Ronan."

"Mmhn."

Adam lifts an eyebrow at the persistent lack of eye contact, and tunes down the music a bit. "Something you'd like to share with the class?"

"Fuck off," is the automated response for this type of shared mockery, and it lacks of any bite as usual. "Just that I'm about to take your jeans off and the hell with it."

Adam snorts, as if Ronan's unabashed eagerness is not deeply endearing. "I would like to see you try," he dares, squeezing his legs together and trapping Ronan's hand in between.

This finally wins him a turn of Ronan's head, blue eyes sharp in the shadow and zeroing on him like a target. "Of course you would," the reply is slow and considering, just like the tension along his arm with which he fights the block. It's easier, since he's not trying to dislodge it but merely to slide it up further. Adam's breath carefully curls in his mouth when the side of it presses squarely between his legs.

Adam's eyelids flutter and he shivers, back stretching — the resulting pop of his spine, in its rush to release the tension of the day, is impossible to hide. "You're not gonna strip me on the road," he still states.

"Am I not?" Ronan's grin is full of contrariness, as usual.

"That's what getting home is for."

"Home is too far away," Ronan protests. The ball of his hand tilts just so and Adam knows how _much better_ it will be without the jeans fabric in the way. "And I could make you come at least once before we get there."

Adam's hips twist at the suggestion, treacherously. "Sure...and then we end up face-first on a tree and I die happy?"

"I know how to drive a fucking car!" Ronan groans, feathers ruffed at the suggestion that he could not multitask a twisting road and a jack off session. This time, he actually snatches his hand away from the grip of Adam's thighs, but Adam doesn't have time to mourn its loss because the BMW is already taking a risky-turn into a barely-there dark path disappearing into the woods. "Better? No one is gonna see us here," Ronan prompts, revving the engine down and stopping several hundreds meter away from the road.

Adam stares at him in a vague disbelief. "Seriously?"

"Fuck yes."

Any further questioning on the arrangement gets muted by Ronan dragging him into a kiss, one hand on the back of Adam's head and lips already open. Ronan kisses him like he's starving — like he _needs_ it — but he's careful with his lust — like he _knows_ him. There is a lot to be weakened by and Adam undoes his seatbelt just to be able to turn properly towards him.

"You really want to get me off so much?" Adam breathes out, while Ronan moves his searing kisses along his jaw, down his neck.

"Always" Ronan mumbles. The huff of air on Adam's skin after the passage of Ronan's tongue gives him goosebumps all the way to his wrists. Ronan lifts up — apparently detonated by his reaction — and scrambles out of the driver's seat to climb onto Adam's lap with only a limited amount of swearing and hitting his head on the ceiling.

Adam chuckles, and grabs him by the hips to get him closer, "You're too tall to pull this in a car."

"Tough shit, watch me," Ronan reply is half-muffled on the renewed crashing on Adam's lips and pressing him bodily against the car seat. Everything is crowded and unsteady, Ronan's long legs don't actually have enough space to be stable by the side of Adam's hips, but the pressure of his clenching thighs and the weight of him on his thighs is _delicious_. "Please..." Ronan murmurs wetly, biting down on Adam's lower lip as if he could swallow his helpless want, "Can I suck you off?"

Adam barely refrains from swearing — a terrible Ronan habit that is more than appropriate for these situations — and vents out the reflexive body-wide shudder by dragging his hands down Ronan's wide back and kissing him again. By the time he's done, they are both breathing heavily. "Since you asked so nicely..."

Ronan springs into action so suddenly that he hits the back of his head on the roof. Adam cannot refrain from laughing at the string of swear words that follows, even while Ronan blindly reaches from the mechanism and pushes Adam's seat all the way back to leave him space to kneel between Adam's legs and the glove compartment.

"It's not funny."

"Oh, but _it is_."

Ronan grabs him by the waist of his jeans and he's strong enough to pull Adam towards him. For all his pretence to look offended at Adam's laughters, a smile is widening, sharp, across his stunning face, while Ronan fights with the buttons and the flyer of Adam's jeans like his life depends on it. Adam leans back heavily against the seat and lifts his hips and Ronan is way too quick in lowering them all the way down and freeing Adam's right leg to pull it up on his left shoulder.

If Adam wasn't feeling wet before, he certainly is now.

It's not like no one has ever gone down on Adam before, but it was never with the right premises and a subconscious pang of nervousness still lingers in the back of Adam's mind. He fights it down, because it's unfair towards Ronan — who is nothing but eager, while he drags Adam's boxers down — and no one has ever been as trusting, accepting and willing to be _better_ than he is.

He kind of wants to talk to Ronan about what brought this on, but every vague curiosity and analytical thinking his mind would usually harbour is steadily getting disrupted by Ronan's fingers — almost scratching on the sensitive skin between his hips and his legs — and by Ronan's kisses — leaving love bites in their wake from his bellybutton down to his pelvis. He can feel himself clenching with want and it doesn't really matter _why_ he gets to have it like this tonight.

As soon as Adam presses his calf across Ronan's back to drag him even closer, Ronan gets a hold of his hips to stop him from squirming further and slides down. All the way down. Adam barely has time to register the whiff of his breath before the scorching wetness of his tongue comes.

"Mmhn," Adam hums between gritted teeth, dropping his weight against the seat and drowning in the sensation. Ronan licks him with fickle, insistent movements and it's like being coaxed to open up. It's hardly shameful, considering how ready Ronan's tongue is to move broader every time Adam's body concedes him something. Adam can feel his breath locking in his lungs, hitching and curling, and he doesn't know if he's trying to resist it or savour it.

Then Ronan's tongue presses down more, licking from his cunt all the way over his dick and Adam would _squirm_ for it, if it weren't for the demanding grip of Ronan's hands on his side. He hums again, halted, reaching blindly for Ronan's nape and pressing him up against him. In clear disregard of his silent demands, Ronan keeps licking for some seconds longer, tongue flashing and circling. Adam's mind short-circuit in a pool of wetness and he can feel the shiver rising from the tip of his toes, making his legs shake.

That's of course the moment when Ronan presses an open mouthed kiss against him, and then _sucks_ on his dick.

Adam has barely enough time to plaster his hand on his mouth before groaning helplessly into it, hips bucking. He has the uncanny feeling that Ronan is smirking like the self-satisfied asshole he is, but it's difficult to resent him for it when the rhythmic suction is so encompassing. It's not that Ronan is rough with him, but he is ruthless, insistent, and he sucks Adam like he means it, like there is no question about whether he can take it. The sensation is just overwhelming enough that Adam's whole world concentrates on his dick, and everything feels bigger, hyper-focused on wet slides.

Ronan keeps it up to the point Adam's nerves are almost dumbing, the pressure of Ronan's full lips almost dry after all his sucking. A barely-there graze of teeth sends a tremor all along Adam's body, legs clenching on Ronan's shoulders, and his mouth drops open in disbelief around a helpless inhale.

It's the following lapping that gets him, a subtle wet slide on the tip of his dick that turns almost-numbness straight down to over-sensitivity.

"Ah!"

The moan escapes him before he can swallow it, and Adam sets himself to ignore it and pressing his hand back on his mouth. He gets high-pitched when he's loving it, he knows it. It's always been like that but he doesn't want the mood to be ruined by the dissonance of his voice when out of control.

The force of habit is so strong that he doesn't register how gravelly he just sounded until Ronan's tongue is not moving any more and his blue eyes are staring at him from between his legs. They stare at each other for some long second while the sudden contrast between the first time they had sex — barely a year on T — and this time — twelve months and plenty of T later — dawns on them both.

"Fuck, that's hot..." No one should have the right to say something like that with wet mouth and flushed cheek, but Ronan still does. His right hand flashes up and snatches Adam's wrist, twining their fingers together and dragging their hands away from Adam's mouth and down against the seat. He goes back to licking Adam, even more furiously, before he can even think about saying something.

The type of ecstasy Adam finds himself trapped in is the weird kind, in that almost-unattainable balance between the pleasure that someone else can bring you and the satisfaction of your body cooperating with you. Ronan grounds him and pushes him through both, with the tenderness of his hands and the unpredictability of his mouth.

The sucking returns as if Adam can _take it_ , but everything along his body is tensing and maybe _he can't_. When the pressure relents again, he doesn't last two circling motions around the tip of his dick before he snaps off, with a scream and blackened vision. His body bucks and arches but Ronan doesn't relent until Adam throat locks on itself and the only thought in his mind is that he's coming, coming, coming.

When he comes back to it Ronan is slowly running his t-shirt up and dotting his spasming stomach with kisses. The car is filled with Adam panting breaths and it's a sheer contrast for his brain, still set on filthy, _filthy_ licking noises.

"Shit," Adam hiccups, voice broken — but still low, _still low_.

"You're so _hot_ ," Ronan murmurs in return, so horny it filters in his tone, and Adam can do little more than pressing once more on the back of his neck and dragging him all the way up for a kiss. He tastes himself, but more than that the proof of how unrestrained Ronan is in working to make him come his brain out, and it's marvelous. "I'm so glad this is for me..." Ronan adds, eyes closed, between kisses.

Adam blinks, stupidly, "Is it what this is about?"

Ronan slides down to kiss along Adam's neck, in a not-so-subtle attempt of avoiding eye contact. "Well...at least five of those girls tonight would rush to take my place."

Adam stares at the buzzed head bent somewhere along his collarbones and smiles without meaning to. Of course he know what girls Ronan is talking about: another state high school stopped by at Nino's on the way to D.C. for God's know what business, and Blue in particular found incredibly entertaining to keep track how many of them aimed at Gansey and how many ogled Adam instead. It would be a lie to say that he isn't still flattered by it — by the sole possibility of his strange figure to be eyed with interest instead of doubt — but witnessing a _jealous_ Ronan kind of challenges it.

"Well..." Adam echoes Ronan, "Good thing your place is not open for bidding, then."

Ronan lifts his head at the reply, and there is a layer of vulnerability in how hesitant his smile is, for a second, before opening up in the usual self-assured manner. "Damn right, it fucking isn't!" He's almost cheerful, rather than biting, and Adam can't refrain from laughing.

He barely has time to lift his arms up and let Ronan get rid of his t-shirt for good measure, before Ronan launches in a mission to create a happy trail of his own making from his sternum down to his hips in forms of love bites. Adam's back arches when Ronan latches on really sensitive point just below one of the scars from the chest surgery, and the only thing it gains him is that Ronan stays there long enough to make him groan.

"Are you having fun?" Adam complains, with no real heat behind it.

"Very. I like this...the trace of me..." Ronan fails on the attempt to properly articulate his dirty talk but Adam still feels warm all over from it. He squirms under Ronan mouth, in a mindless tingle of pleasure, but before he can articulate other desires for this crazy car-sex session, Ronan drops back to his knees and goes to bite and suck on the inside of his thighs.

"Oh God..." If he thought he got it back together, the jump of his hips in response to Ronan presence begs to differ.

"Lean back...let me lick some more." Ronan asks, dark like sin.

Adam still feels wet and tingling but he can feel himself spasming at the mere _suggestion_ of a second round. "No, no..." he says, though, getting up — leather crackling while ungluing from his skin — to reach behind Ronan to the glove compartment.

"No?" Ronan murmurs, one finger running along Adam's folds.

Adam bucks and almost curls around Ronan against his better judgment, with a very heartfelt "Fuck!"

He still manages to recover what he wanted and slam it onto Ronan's chest, but it must be some sort of miracle. Ronan stares down and grabs the tiny envelope, blinking up at Adam, suddenly dumbfounded as if he hasn't just suggested to lick Adam to _death_.

"Ronan, come on," Adam urges, reaching down to unbuckle Ronan's jeans — they are so tight and strained with his erection it must _hurt_ , for God's sake. "Fuck me...put this on and _fuck me_."

Detonating a bomb would get a slower reaction.

Ronan swears profusely between clenched teeth and looms over Adam, struggling to lower his jeans and giving up as soon as they are barely down his butt. He almost drops the condom a couple of time, until Adam snatches it back and opens it with his teeth. He can feel Ronan's piercing eyes on him, insistently, but he finds himself staring at the raging erection Ronan exposed to him.

"Jesus _fuck_ ," Ronan grits out, dropping his forearms against the headrest of the passenger's seat when Adam curls his hand around his cock and strokes. His long eyelashes flutter in the thick shadows of the car in the middle of the night and he seems lost in the contact, starving for the sensation. 

"Not if you don't get to it," Adam muses, rolling the condom down and twisting one leg around Ronan's, to align himself flush against Ronan at the edge of the seat.

"Shut up," it sounds more like keep talking forever, when Ronan lines up and slides in a rush.

Adam forgets how to breathe for a second, and Ronan's strong arm circling his back and pressing against it doesn't help. It's like scratching a deep-seated hitch after centuries of waiting, and his cunt is still wet and soft, yielding to Ronan's thrusts with barely any resistance.

Ronan moans as if he's being stabbed and bites down on Adam's left shoulder. His hands travel down and grab onto Adam's ass, pulling and kneading and dragging their body even closer. That's how Adam ends up with his legs around Ronan's hips and a building rhythm at _just the right angle_.

"Yes... _yes_..." Adam encourages, sucking behind Ronan's ear and balling his hand around Ronan's tank top. There is something fundamentally indecent in being basically naked when Ronan has little more than his dick out, and Adam can feel himself squeezing on the hardness of Ronan's cock at the mere thought of it.

He rocks his hips in tiny circles, chasing the quivering of his own lower half, reduced to a pool of sparks and pleasure. Ronan is tireless in fucking, deep and solid and strong enough that Adam is sure as hell he's not holding anything back. Adam can feel his vision wavering and sneaks his hand all the way down, between Ronan's strong buttocks, to drag his fingers back and forth in the crack between them.

Ronan moans deep enough he's almost screaming and tunes down with an incoherent string of swears spaced out with Adam's name. "Let me hear you," he says at some point, lost and increasingly hectic in his thrusts, " _Moan_ for me."

Adam catches himself only then, with his teeth biting down on Ronan's shoulder. It's a habit, he always does it, but apparently he doesn't _have to_. Letting his jaw drop open to a quivering moan and hearing himself just as he always imagined is a crazy sensation. Ronan bends even more towards him and they end up looking at each other while they fuck. For every time Adam swallowed down his own noises, now he lets himself fall into an exchange of moan and kisses, into the distraught quality of Ronan's — so flushed, so unbelievably into this.

He comes hard and sudden, like a lightning striking, but Ronan doesn't stop fucking him so his inside twists and pulse and maybe he's coming again or it's just the same orgasm changing shape. When Ronan finally slows and jerks to a stop they are both trembling like leaves and Ronan slouching on top of him and wheezing on his flat chest feels like victory and madness at the same time.

They hug in the sudden silence, the windows coated in condensation and the air stuffed with sex.

They could have done this at home but Adam really doesn't feel like complaining.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a super interesting thing to write and while I'm always happy to have a more varied representation in fan fictions this was my first time writing with a trans character!
> 
> As such, please let me know if you want me to add more content tags, and of course let me know ALL of your thoughts in the comment section or in my [Tumblr](http://seekthemist.tumblr.com)!
> 
> I live for your feedback and I adore EACH AND EVERY ONE of you <333


	11. Adam/Ronan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the very, very special installment of the ever-growing filth collection for MrsGuinevre birthday! :DDD  
> She's a darling and I don't think I've ever published something without her commenting, I'm so glad she's around, spare her some thoughts on her B-Day!
> 
> She sort-of-chose half of the prompt, I picked up another number as the "surprise!" part myself. The prompts, as usual, comes from [this list](http://seekthemist.tumblr.com/post/159187801724/thread-starters-kink-edition)!
> 
> Special thanks to Interropunct, because they are brutally, absolutely awesome and corrected this flow of filth I wrote mostly on plane journeys.  
>  
> 
> **Content Warning for this chapter** : Overworking and exhaustion, Implied past-abuse, Massage, Sensation play, Rimming, Fingering, Anal Sex.  
>   
>   
> 

  


  
**Adam/Ronan + “Your muscles are in knots. Better let me rub you down” , “It’s an ice cube, darling. Do you like it?”**

 

The impact of the bathroom door frame on Adam's right shoulder barely registers in his mind, even while he sways around in the corridor in response. He's not sure if he has a headache or it's just the general soreness expanding to his temples for good measure. The only thing he knows is that the twenty minutes under scalding water had made him clean, one layer after another, and yet he's sure the grossness of engine oil still clings — on his skin, underneath it, in his _bones_ , at this point.

A sudden grasp of hands on his hips, just above where the towel is wrapped tight, is the only thing that stops him from stumbling further down the hallway.

"The room is here, Parrish, come on."

Under Ronan's guidance, turning around is doable, easy. "I know where the room is," Adam complains, but still lets his back plaster against Ronan chest.  
It's difficult to feel gross while Ronan trails the tip of nose in the dip of his nape, but his body turns the reflexive shudder of pleasure into a spark of tension where Adam is already short-circuited.

Ronan eyes him suspiciously at the catch of his breath, as if sensing it's wrongness. "Lay down, for fuck's sake, get some sleep."

Being shoved back in this situation could have been a disaster, but Ronan’s roughness is softened with the care of the bed — duvet already dragged back and pillows lined up — that is there to welcome Adam with little more than a soft bounce of the mattress.

Adam turns slowly to his stomach, unconsciously trying to release the tension in the middle of his back, but the general ache keeps pulsing even with his eyes closed. "I'm too tired," he admits miserably.

From the proximity of the bed, Ronan huffs. The floor halfway to the door squeaks as usual when he strides out of the room, and Adam would sag with more contained misery if it were to be possible.

He can't expect Ronan to truly understand any of this. That Adam can be so tired that his body forgets how to sleep, that he _hurts_ without knowing how to give his muscles some peace. That the world swirls into a haze when it's like this, and yet tomorrow he will do this to himself all over again for a chance to carve a way out of Henrietta with his own hands. That Ronan can't help and just needs to accept that it's _worth it_ , for Adam.

Face down on a pillow that smells faintly of Ronan, Adam can't even move his arms away from his sides — the sole idea to ask his shoulders to perform such a task overwhelming. In the diffuse light of the bedside lamp, ten minutes or hundred could have passed when he belatedly registers that the floor creaked again.

He bats his eyes through the exhausted fog that clouds them, uselessly. The mattress dips under Ronan's weight, at Adam's right, and then it dips again on both sides of his body when Ronan straddles him.

"What?" The mumble clogs around Adam's tongue.

"Shush."

Adam's scrambled brain numbly suggest the default setting — _just take it, whatever it is, it doesn't matter_ — and goes to tune out everything again.

A pair of well-known hands slide between his shoulders blades, pressing all the way up. Before his muscles can register if it hurts, something pops in his back. Adam hears himself moan in relief without even connecting that it's better.

Ronan grabs his right wrist and pulls, the ball of his other hand at the bent of the shoulder, and Adam's instinctive protest dies under another crack. His arm is abandoned, finally bent beside him.

"Ugh, please..." Adam mumbles in a sudden rush of air in his lungs.

" _Shush_ ," Ronan stresses again, and moves his left arm too, for good measure, ignoring Adam's confusion.

The relief is so sudden that Adam shakes. The movement dies in the renewed pressure along his back, forcing every muscle to stretch, every bone to align properly.

A contrary part of Adam's brain pipes up in protest — to oppose this thing, somehow, because it's _confusing_. The air is lingering with the smell of moss and his skin tingles, slippery with a very familiar lotion.

"Ah, Ronan..." he moans, while layers of dull ache succumb under the assault. There is no shushing this time, just another gentle drag of Ronan's nose along the humid hair at the back of Adam's neck, almost encouraging, while his hands press down just below Adam's rib cage.

He's just too strong, in his unstoppable grip, for Adam not to feel him. Maybe the point is exactly that he's feeling it — feeling his own body, his weight on the bed, Ronan's warmth above him. He's feeling as if he never split his mind away from his body and abandoned it, as if he is whole.

"I'll rub this right out of you," Ronan threatens, as if he could kick Adam's soreness off his limbs. It would be more ridiculous if it didn’t seem to be exactly what was going on.

"Please, please," Adam mumbles, fingers twitching while Ronan massages his way from his shoulders along each of his arms. It's still overwhelming, but in a way he needs to beg for, rather than against.

"It's not like you need to ask," Ronan's voice says, behind him, and yet he shifts away from his place beside Adam's thighs.

Adam almost protests the betrayal, when Ronan fingers dig in his left ankle and slip upwards, all the way along the muscle of his calf. He yelps and would kick Ronan in the spasm that shakes him, if dislodging him were even an option. It isn't, though, not with every muscle Adam has ever admired in Ronan applied in bending Adam's body into submission. The pressure goes up, and up, and _up_ , between softness and hardness and softness again. Adam's muscles scream in pain and then relax with a sigh and by the time Ronan's hand rests on the curve of his cheek, below the towel, Adam can feel his left leg again.

He whimpers softly, flexing it, and Ronan chuckles. The humid towel gets dragged away completely, leaving his back exposed. When a soft slap lands on his butt, Adam presses his tongue against the roof of his mouth and just opens his legs up, lifting his right foot up to Ronan.

Ronan traces the tendon at the back of his knee with his fingertips. There is an aftertaste in Adam's mouth that resembles anticipation, just on the verge of teasing. Then Ronan grabs his leg again with both hands, and Adam jumps and squirms and still submits himself to it. He can feel his back bending, in a mindless roll of muscles that he had been sure would never move fluidly again, just half an hour ago.

By the time Ronan's hand is back around his hips, the idea of turning around doesn't feel so intolerable anymore. He's just about to get to it, when a proprietary push between his shoulderblades plasters him down all over again.

"Quit the fucking fidgeting and stay down," Ronan murmurs, bossy and eager, lips close to his hearing ear. His humid breath is all Adam can think about for that hyperfocused second before Ronan licks all the way along the shell and presses the full span of his hands over Adam's back.

"Oh my God," Adam chokes, fingers curling over the pillow. He's not sure if the pressure had been so strong before — and he was just to out of it to notice — or if Ronan is upping the game for the second round. Be as it may, Adam sees no choice but to give up one limb after another, with fluttering eyes.

Getting massaged a second time hurts less and is more intense at the same time — his skin more sensitive, his muscles already more lax. Adam breaths heavily and still gives in to the temptation to squirm away sometimes, only to get pinned between the clench of Ronan's knees at his sides.  
Sweat starts to threaten his temples and his upper lip, plastered sideways against the pillow. He hadn't been so warm before, but he was too tired and without Ronan's insistent touch to coax him out of it. It must be that. That, and the slippery quality of his skin under layers of the dream lotion that usually shields him in windy nights in the middle of nowhere.

"Ronan?" Adam calls, with some delay and a slurred voice, when Ronan lets his ankle go after massaging the sole of Adam's feet long enough to make him see sparks. The mattress shifts again but losing the close contact sounds horrible even if Adam was feeling really hot.

"Not going anywhere," Ronan reassures, reflexively and with such smoothness that Adam's brain short circuits for a second. 

Had he been so needy? So easy to read? He used to be careful and now instead he's just blatant?

It's difficult to panic when he's so relaxed that he's floating. It's even more difficult when Ronan straddles him yet again and bends down to kiss his neck. Gently but oh-so-steady. Adam just tilts his head in a deeper stretch to offer him more skin.

Then something falls on his back between his and Ronan's body and whatever the beginning of a sigh chokes in his throat.

"Ah! Sh... _shit_!"

Ronan's forearm nails him in position, squared along his shoulders. A trail of stinging cold lights up along his spine. "It's an ice cube, do you like it?"

Adam just pants, overly aware of the chilling wetness spreading on the small of his back, where the cube slides to rest after running down the natural bent of his body. 

When he doesn't answer him, Ronan hums and moves the cube around with the tip of his index finger, jumping around his vertebrae and then down. Down. Down to rest at the small dip before the crack of his ass.

Adam keens, with a twitch that threatens his whole body.

"You do," Ronan confirms to himself. He sounds so smug Adam should smack him, but maybe he does have the right to be.

A confused part of Adam's brain is half-convinced, for a handful of seconds, that Ronan is going to dump a whole bucket of ice cubes on his back and toss him from the mellow warmth of his kneading hands into a cold overwhelming hell. Ronan, however, does no such thing and keeps playing with the ice cube on his tailbone, sliding it around in subtle turns. 

The ice cube melts, slowly, and Adam feels every drop of water that trails away like a very specific path on his skin. He stares forward, eyes unfocused, and he can sense that Ronan's fingertip is closer, while the ice gets thinner. It's almost not even chilling anymore, his body accustomed to the temperature, and maybe it's just a sensation trick when Ronan touches his skin directly and Adam sense a very specific last trail of water making his way in the middle of his cheeks.

He moans, and he can't tell himself that he's squirming because he's cold. 

"More?" Ronan brushes his lips against Adam's face, voice all suggestive.

Adam can only swallow around nothing, and nod desperately.

The second ice cube is not left to roll down on its own. Ronan guides it around on Adam's skin, tracing a wet trail on slippery lotion and heated flesh. Adam anticipates the first contact so much that he jumps when it finally arrives, and this time Ronan does not restrain him completely, letting him twitch with every turn, with every time a sensitive area of his back gets frozen over and his nerves light up to counter. Ronan's mouth follows closely after, lips open to suck the water away, his tongue flashing only time and again, yet another kind of burn to make Adam crumble down. 

By the time the bow of his back is reached again, it's mostly with Ronan's icy fingers rather than ice itself, and Ronan is in the process of licking along the bumps of his spine, tongue laving and adding another type of wetness to the mess. Keeping his legs wide to accommodate Ronan's incremental slide between them only serves to make Adam harder. Among the several idiosyncrasies of his brain, at least the “ _if you've got your legs spread something good is coming_ ” is a manageable one, one that sports Ronan's mark only. 

Ronan takes two long breaths against Adam's wet skin, hands opening up to slide down his sides, to the top of his tights. Refraining from shivering when his nose presses on the last of his vertebrae is impossible. Ronan's grin reverberates with weird clarity, even in its silent subtlety, and Adam is hard against the towel he's still laying on — hard enough that the pressure of his own body is teasing, hard enough that just thinking about it elicits a small grinding, hard enough that he almost doesn't notice Ronan spreading him open.

The flat of the tongue licking upwards over his hole is scorching hot.

"Ah!...Ngh..." 

"Be still," Ronan hums against his skin, keeping him spread and weighing down with bent arms on his thighs, " _Relax_."

"Yeah, like it's easy," Adam clips out, stunned and breathless and only distantly realizing it. 

Truth is, it usually isn't. Everything in Adam’s life is a tuned and balanced around control, exhaustion, denial and lack. Ronan is nothing but a giving and invested lover and they rile each other up perfectly in their eagerness and hunger, but that doesn’t mean the notches of tensions along Adam’s body are prone to leave him alone to enjoy it. 

It’s sort of different now, though, because he’s not less exhausted but the insistency of Ronan’s massage crushed more tensions than Adam had been aware of sporting. As if conditioned, the renewed kneading on his thighs makes Adam give in more, just before Ronan dives in again. 

More insistent licking and a satisfied humming from behind later, Adam moans in defeat. It's almost confusing, with all his senses coming in a collection of randomized items: the pillow plastering on his cheek, the roughness of the humid towel against the head of his cock, the patches of warmth and residual cold on the skin of his back. His hole flutters helplessly under Ronan's tongue, yielding in increments.

"Ahhh! _Ah_!" He reaches back and grabs onto Ronan's shoulder with one hand. It doesn't make any difference, it just gives Adam another place to hold on to, while Ronan wiggles his tongue.

Around. _In_.

Adam's back bends to escape and get more of it at the same time. He gets exactly what Ronan is already willing to give him, which is a lot, and frenetic, barely paced by Ronan's necessity to breathe in properly sometimes.

He's left wet, and gaping, when Ronan lifts his head.

"Oh please...ah!... _please_ ," Adam begs softly, just because he feels like it and it sounds good in his mouth.

"Sure," Ronan reassures, hoarse and just as eager. Yet, he gets up from between Adam's legs and reaches over the bedside table. 

Adam doesn't manage to question him on his promises. Wherever Ronan's right hand is going, two fingers of the left gather up the wetness between his cheeks and slide the spit and watered lotion in to fill Adam where he's open.

A gurgling noise arises from his throat. This time nothing stops him from canting back, as the fingers keep still for him to chase the pressure and Ronan adjusts just the bending of his wrist.

Ronan's right hand return to bury in Adam's hair, combing them away from his face. They dried up messily and it's _lovely_ in a completely different way from the test of the situation.

Adam is almost gathering up the strength to push himself up a bit and fuck himself better on Ronan's fingers, when Ronan bends again to bring his mouth between Adam's shoulder blades. Adam expects kisses, but what he gets is a controlled slide of ice preceded by the soft touch of the tip of a nose.

"Ronan oh my - " Adam would like to articulate how he feels about the situation but only gets as far as choking on a moan when Ronan's fingers get the perfect angle. He freezes and then shudders, fingers curling on the pillowcase and back slightly bent.

Ronan makes a weird sound — possibly a moan but everything is distorted by the ice cube between his teeth — and combs his fingers in delight between Adam's curls. Just as delightfully, he begins to shift his hands, fingers sliding in and out in _just the right way_ for every movement to light up the back of Adam's eyes.

Adam hears his own moans — full and timed with the subtle sleek noises that accompany Ronan's movement — and still doesn't fully realizes that they are coming from him. It's just too much to process — between the heat of Ronan's body against him and the freezing spots of the ice getting dragged around, his body _pulsing_ where it's open — and he contents himself with floating in it all.

Ronan crunches on the thinned ice and sucks on the soft spot below Adam's ribs with something akin to desperation. With what it is taking Adam not to come he can definitely sympathize.  
Adam tries to breathe in full a couple of times while Ronan lifts up again, abandoning his hair to recover another ice cube. The sheer _thought_ of it is overwhelming.

"I...ah!...fuck, I can't," he moans desperately, trying to stress a point that he can't even see through the cloudiness of his eyes.

"Sure you can," Ronan's voice is just as strained, as if he's the one that spent the last hour getting touched in every way. "You just need to come."

He keeps his fingers buried in and circles around, stressing the point. Adam's eyes cross helplessly and he can't inhale anymore.

He's so close, so _close_ , and everything is begging him just to let go, but his brain is set on waiting.

"I _can't_!...Fuck me now, _now_ , I can't!"

The incoherent mumble is stopped by Ronan letting his fingers slide out.

"That's...what you were waiting for?" 

Ronan sounds disbelieving for a long second, but then springs into action without waiting for Adam's to reply.  
Adam is still twitching on the verge of an orgasm and opens his mouth unthinking against the freezing pressure on his lips. He sucks the cube between his teeth, between his palate and his tongue, and gets lost in the conflicting sensation once again, with a different kind of moan.

He snaps out of it when Ronan grasps at his hips, kneeling between his legs once again.

"Yes...yesyes _ye_... _Ah_!"

Adam is so open that Ronan slides right in, and he's so gone that can't even question when he put the condom on. He screams around the ice cube and has to rush to suck it back in instead of dropping it.

The first thrust comes almost immediately and he bites down, crushing the ice and every distraction it provided so far.  
His insides clench and then relax to accommodate Ronan's well-known and well-loved shape.

"Ro...nan..." He calls out, in the weird pause that follows, a handful of seconds sufficient to make him starve for this all over again.

Then Ronan is fucking him and swearing softly under his breath, and Adam crashes out of his mind and completely inside his own body once and for all.

Adam can't hear himself moan, even while his tongue curls around around his screams, but it doesn't really matter. He lasts so little, surrendering his body to a deserved, overwhelming orgasm, entrusting Ronan to fuck him through it and hold him through the shuddering aftershocks.

The rest is an even more fractured collection of sensations.

Ronan keeps going for a while and moans miserably against Adam's neck, coming in Adam’s body, relaxed as last.

He gets turned around slowly, a rough pull dislodged the now dirtied towel from beneath him. Ronan is there to look at him and Adam reaches up blindly, vision swimming.

They kiss, a lot, so much that Adam is not sure he's awake for the full span of it, or if he dragged the swirl of Ronan's tongue in his mouth right in his sleep.

There is a murmur against his lips and Ronan's chest is heaving under his deaf ear. Adam curls more tightly against him and gives in to a restful darkness, body lax and content for once.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading!
> 
> As usual, feel free to comment and/or come scream at me in the ask box of [my Tumblr](http://seekthemist.tumblr.com).
> 
> I still have a pile of prompt to fill up, apart from this special birthday installment, and given how many Pynch fills I just clustered, I will go on a bit of a rare pair spree after this chapter :D Just bear with me because work is being a bit of a bitch recently...


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